


Little Love

by iliura



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliura/pseuds/iliura
Summary: Akaashi is an anxious mess who accidentally gets too drunk one night and ends up in an alley behind a club. Bokuto is a hyperactive dork who finds the drunk Akaashi in the alley and helps him. That should be the end of the story, but Akaashi finds out it's, in fact, just the beginning.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 150
Kudos: 437
Collections: Fluff.. can’t say pure cause I’m a slut for angst, Have Read





	1. Long Nights

**Author's Note:**

> I've written plenty of fics, but I've never actually posted any because I get too nervous. But this one is my favorite so far, and my friend said I should share it, so here you go.

Akaashi looked up from his desk at Oikawa, who was leaning over him with one hand on his hip and another dangerously close to Akaashi’s coffee mug. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose slowly, and Oikawa reached over to push them up, still maintaining a playful grin. Akaashi quickly slapped his hand away, readjusting his glasses.

“Don’t you have fittings or a meeting or something that doesn’t involve bothering me while I’m trying to work?” Akaashi’s question was dry, his eyes returning to his computer screen.

“I’m on lunch,” Oikawa responded, beginning to fiddle with Akaashi’s pens. Akaashi snatched them away from him, his eyebrows slowly beginning to knit together and his forehead creasing like the papers lodged in the copier machine that morning.

“It’s not even eleven o’clock,” he mumbled, “What do you want? I will call Asahi if you’re bored. I’m sure he could find a task for you.”

Oikawa smirked. “Actually, I’m here by Asahi’s request. Tonight is Noya’s birthday, and he has requested we go to a local nightclub. Of course, Asahi isn’t a fan of those scenes…” Oikawa ran his finger along the edge of Akaashi’s planner, which lay open on his desk. Akaashi finally turned from his computer, pulling his belongings away from Oikawa’s nosey touch, and met his gaze.

“And?”

“Asahi wanted to know if you would come along?” Oikawa’s face feigned total innocence and pleasantry, like a child asking his mother to go play with a friend knowing he had not completed the chores she had given him.

“Absolutely not.” Akaashi set his planner down with an air of finality, but to his dismay, Oikawa’s expression didn’t even falter a little. He knew how this would end. 

“You’re just going to leave Asahi to fend for himself among the night-goers? Poor Asahi, frightened and confused amidst all the lights and music and drunken bodies? How heartless.” Oikawa’s tone reminded Akaashi of the character of Hamlet when he saw the production in college: full of smug sarcasm and a hint of manipulation to get his way. 

Oikawa draped himself over the desk like Akaashi’s cat draped herself over his keyboard when he did work at home, demanding his attention. Akaashi felt Oikawa’s hair tickle the tip of his nose, an outward sensation that mimicked the irritation rising in Akaashi’s throat. 

“Asahi will be just fine.” Akaashi tried to keep his responses simple with Oikawa. The man was a master at spinning his words around to trap Akaashi against a wall. He had to be careful, or Oikawa would leave him no choice but to agree. 

“You never go out anywhere, Akaashi,” Oikawa chided. “You come here, drink your boring black coffee, and go home to your cat, where you probably drink something boring like water.” 

Akaashi’s eyebrow twitched up a bit. There was no need to drag his cat into this conversation. “Oikawa, I do drink other things. As a matter of fact, I usually prefer to drink a glass of wine when I get home from work.”

Oh shit. 

His grin widened, and Oikawa leapt on his cornered prey. “So, you can get your glass of wine at the club with Asahi while Noya and I have some fun. It’ll be no different than your normal Friday night.”

Akaashi tried to backpedal, sputtering about how clubs don’t serve wine, but he knew Oikawa and Noya would never be caught dead at a place that wasn’t upscale enough to serve wine in addition to the more recreational cocktails and liquor. Oikawa had laid his trap, and Akaashi had fallen right into it. 

With a final, defeated sigh, Akaashi agreed to accompany his coworkers and Noya out for the latter’s birthday. As Oikawa skipped away to inform Asahi of the good news, Akaashi reached into his desk to fish out some pain medicine for the dull throbbing that was growing behind his eyes.

*

The throbbing behind Akaashi’s eye was getting worse, but he couldn’t tell if it was from a headache or from the music pumping out of the speakers all around him. He was right, Oikawa and Noya had chosen one of the more popular, upscale nightclubs in the city. Before him lay a sprawling dance floor, but all he saw were bodies that seemed to pulsate. The air smelled of booze, sweat, and smoke. Akaashi crinkled his nose and turned to swirl his drink around in its glass. The amber liquid reminded him of honey, lazily rolling around the glass like a bumblebee lazily bounces from flower to flower. 

Upon arriving at the club, Oikawa and Noya had dragged their party of four over to the bar, where Oikawa opened a tab on his credit card. He declared that the night was his treat for Noya’s birthday, for Asahi’s success in his clothing line, and for Akaashi’s willingness to humor his gaudy comments throughout their workdays. Noya had immediately thrown a shot of clear liquid back and, surprisingly, Asahi had followed suit. Oikawa had draped his arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, pressing his lips close to his ear so he could hear him over the music.

“It’s on me tonight, partner, so enjoy yourself. I’m also DD, so don’t hold back.” Oikawa had winked at Akaashi then, before buying Noya and Asahi another round of shots, his own drink, and the whiskey Akaashi now stared at as he slowly sipped the chest-warming liquid. 

At some point in the night, Noya had dragged a tipsy Asahi out to the dance floor, and Oikawa had followed shortly after. He bought Akaashi another drink, demanding that the first and second be finished by the time he returned. Just like that, Akaashi found himself alone at the bar. 

He thought it was funny how Oikawa had spun this like it was a chance for Akaashi to spend some time with his timid employer. Asahi was one of the only people Akaashi regularly spent time with; it wasn’t like he needed to find an excuse to keep his company. Asahi had hired Akaashi on to his designing company immediately after Akaashi had graduated from college. It was the first job he had applied to, and Asahi was honest in telling him that one of the main reasons he hired the quiet man was because Akaashi could hold his own with the one, the only, the incomparable model Oikawa. 

In reality, he was almost positive that it had been Oikawa’s idea all along to bring Akaashi out tonight. Despite his occasionally insufferable ego, Oikawa was consistent in his desire to see his closest coworkers enjoy themselves. He had joined Asahi’s clothing company with the intention of bringing a small brand to a bigger stage, and he had succeeded. However, Asahi and Akaashi also worked almost tirelessly as designers and, essentially, managers of Oikawa’s modeling career. Oikawa returned this dedication with dedication to their well-being. That was how he managed to befriend Asahi’s boyfriend, Nishinoya, and how he managed to convince Akaashi to join in with their antics, even at fashion shows. 

But Akaashi couldn’t complain. The three of them were really the only friends that he had. His anxieties kept him from socializing outside of work, and most of the time he took his work home in order to distract him from the overwhelming nervousness that would overtake him even in his own quiet apartment. 

Truth be told, Akaashi wasn’t upset that he came out with them. He just wished he wasn’t too anxious to join them in the crowd. 

He chugged the rest of his first drink and started on the second. Oikawa was ordering him liquor on the rocks, so it was likely that he intended to see Akaashi drunk at some point. Akaashi wasn’t sure if he was ready for that level of vulnerability yet, but the drinks were free so he wouldn’t be rude. 

As he began sipping his second drink, he took note of the golden eyes watching him from across the bar. The bartender, a man presumably close to his age, with peculiarly slicked back white hair and outgrown black roots, thick biceps, and a handsome face had taken notice of the independent Akaashi. He refilled some drinks, both from people sitting at the bar and from waitresses bringing drink orders from around the club, and then he slowly made his way in Akaashi’s direction. 

“I haven’t seen your friends around in a few. Did they abandon you?” His voice was deep and smooth, and Akaashi couldn’t help but notice the sweet tinge of teasing in it, twinkling like the little bell on his cat’s collar. 

“I’m sure they’ll return at some point,” Akaashi replied evenly. He was sure Oikawa would come sauntering out of the crowd soon, throwing his styled, mousy-brown hair about as he declared yet another round for his friends. 

“Well, I could keep you company until then.” Mr. Bartender smiled pleasantly, and Akaashi couldn’t help but notice his perfectly aligned, strikingly white teeth.

 _Must not drink coffee much…_ Akaashi thought, subconsciously running his tongue over his own teeth. He shook his head slightly, forcing away the anxious, self-deprecating thoughts that came without warning whenever he let his guard down. It wasn’t like his teeth weren’t white either. It also wasn’t like it mattered that much. 

“Don’t you have to tend the bar?” Akaashi’s voice was level, his face void of emotion, heavy eyelids keeping his stoic impression in place.

“I am working! A part of being a bartender is chatting with people. It’s honestly my favorite part of this job!” Mr. Bartender laughed loudly, and Akaashi couldn’t help but break into a small smile.

“Well, sure then.” 

*

Oikawa had returned multiple times, each time buying Akaashi a new drink, and each time insisting that it be gone when he returned. His forehead was glistening with a sheen of sweat, his perfectly styled hair falling slightly flat from the efforts of dancing and maneuvering around bodies on the dance floor. Akaashi couldn’t be positive, but Oikawa’s slightly swollen lips also indicated he had found someone to pass some time with. He hadn’t seen Asahi or Noya since they had disappeared into the crowd, but Oikawa assured him they were having a blast. He suggested Akaashi join him in the crowd, but Akaashi only ducked his head a bit to hide the anxious flush that deepened the one already there from the alcohol. He politely declined, asking Oikawa to keep an eye on the other two. 

After Oikawa would leave, Akaashi would return his attention to the golden-eyed man before him. Mr. Bartender would resume whatever mostly one-sided conversation he was having with Akaashi, and Akaashi would sip whatever burning liquid Oikawa had provided him with this time. 

It was true, perhaps, that alcohol could be considered liquid courage. Akaashi was far from a courageous person, but as the night went on, he found himself flushing less from his nerves and more from the laughter that Mr. Bartender elicited from him. His joyful voice, exuberant personality, and boisterous hand motions kept Akaashi’s attention, even as the alcohol slowed his speech and reactions. He felt himself belly-laughing at a story that he honestly couldn’t tell why it was so funny, but Mr. Bartender was laughing too, so obviously Akaashi should join him. 

He found himself joining in with the conversation more and more. He even found himself leaning towards the bartender, listening intently, making direct eye contact. The man’s hands rested on the bar while he told his story (or joke, or whatever it was, Akaashi didn’t know anymore), and Akaashi placed his own hands over them while he threw his head back in laughter. His inhibitions were completely gone. 

Oikawa reemerged with Noya and Asahi in tow. The couple were clearly intoxicated, but Noya was still his overzealous self. He bounced up to Akaashi, grabbed the man’s hands with intensity and urgency, and leaned in close to his face. 

“Aghasshi…” Noya’s speech was slurred. “For my birth..day, I wanna see you dance, please? Come and dance with mee!” Noya leapt up, almost losing his balance when he landed, but Akaashi’s hands steadied him. 

Without permission, Akaashi giggled at Noya’s words and nodded. Noya lit up, his eyes bright and wide, and dragged Akaashi from the barstool and towards the dancefloor. Akaashi threw a glance over his shoulder at Mr. Bartender, who was grinning, and waved goodbye to him. Oikawa laughed loudly as he and Asahi followed the other two into the crowd. 

*

Oikawa approached the bar after the bartender had issued last call. He knew that Akaashi had been talking with him, and he thought perhaps he knew where his friend was. 

“Hey, excuse me?” Oikawa gave a little wave as the bartender looked up at him. “You know the dark-haired guy that was here chatting with you? Have you seen him?”

The golden eyed man shook his head slightly. “Not since he went out there with you guys. He was pretty drunk though; I was about to cut him off. Hopefully he didn’t get anymore drinks. Why? Did you lose him?”

Oikawa nodded. “I thought he was behind me. I should have kept a better eye on him…” He looked around nervously, eyeing Noya and Asahi across the slowly clearing dance floor. He shouldn’t have left Akaashi alone, he knew that. He frowned, feeling foolish. 

“I’ll help look for him. He probably ended up in the bathroom and fell asleep or something,” the bartender said, coming out from behind the bar. He smiled reassuringly at Oikawa. “I’ll go check the bathrooms. Why don’t you go look in the booths?” 

Oikawa nodded, heading in the direction of the booths against the opposite wall. The bartender went in the direction of the bathrooms. He knocked on the men’s room door, pushing it open slightly, only to be met with an angry man who smelled like alcohol, smoke, and…vomit? He also had water on his shirt, and he was cursing.

“Sorry,” the golden eyed man mumbled, noting the vomit also on the floor. He would have to clean that up. Gross. 

He let the door fall shut again, glancing in the women’s restroom briefly. When he didn’t find the man from the bar, he frowned. He decided to check the alleyway behind the club. He knew that sometimes super drunk people would stumble outside and wander off down the street after using the bathroom. He hoped that hadn’t happened to the man he’d been talking to. 

When he opened the door and glanced outside, the first thing that caught his attention was the dark lump leaning against the wall a few feet from the door covered in his own vomit.


	2. Red Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I decided to post the second chapter because some people have commented on the first and it made me really happy. I've written the first five chapters of this already, and I'm working on chapter six right now, so I'll probably update pretty frequently. 
> 
> I want to give a little warning for this chapter. There's some nonconsensual touching that happens, but it's nothing graphic and nothing bad actually happens. But I know that reading about a situation like that can be really stressful, so if you want to skip that part, it starts with Akaashi in the bathroom ("Away from the deep boom...") and ends with him falling outside ("He found himself at another door..."). 
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments so far!

Even though he was surrounded by all the music, Akaashi felt as if he had cotton stuffed in his ears. His movements were slow and sloppy; his limbs felt heavy and foreign. He caught a glimpse of Oikawa, who was slowly moving away from him. Noya had stuck with Akaashi briefly before he returned to his boyfriend’s side, pulling the taller down into a deep kiss. Akaashi felt as if he were intruding on something, so he turned away from them, letting himself wander among the bodies around him. 

Akaashi felt someone else’s body press against his, and he stiffened when a hand found its way to his waist. He turned to look at the person touching him, but there was too much movement and too much light for him to make out a clear image. He felt another hand sliding under the hem of his shirt, and he squirmed, unsure if he was okay with this kind of contact with a stranger. His movements were still too sluggish for him to properly push the hands off him, so when he wrapped his hand around the other’s wrist but didn’t move right away, the other presumably took it as an invitation from Akaashi.

He was suddenly moving faster than his own legs could carry him at that point, so he stumbled through the crowd, the mystery hand keeping him steady as they ventured in an unknown direction. Akaashi felt flushed and dizzy, and then suddenly he was out of the crowd and being guided toward a hallway lit in red. He heard a door being pushed open, and he noted the sudden smell of cleaning products and soap. Suddenly he was against a wall, and the mystery person was against his body. 

Away from the deep boom of the music and the disorienting flashing lights, Akaashi could begin to assess his surroundings. He was in the bathroom. He saw the sink and the toilet, and in the mirror, he saw himself pinned under the body of another man. He looked up at stranger, and suddenly lips were crushing his. This man smelled of smoke, and he tasted of alcohol. Akaashi tried to pull his head away, but he only met the wall and could move no further. He began to turn his head, desperate to break the kiss, but the man only grabbed his chin to hold him in place. 

Akaashi tried to push the man off him, but he was much stronger than Akaashi realized, and the man also read Akaashi’s movements as encouragement. Or, perhaps, he was simply ignoring Akaashi’s body language. He felt a hand sliding under his shirt again, and then another hand grabbing him over his jeans. Akaashi gasped into the man’s mouth, shaking his head as best as he could, but he felt increasingly dizzy and confused. He tried to scream, but the lips crushing his own muffled them. And even if he could scream, the thought occurred to him that no one would hear him over the music. 

He continued to shake his head, eyes wide as he desperately, albeit weakly, shoved against this stranger’s shoulders. Suddenly, the dizziness he felt moved down his throat, to his stomach, and then back up without warning. The bout of nausea that overtook him was powerful, and Akaashi tried to bite back the hot liquid rising in his throat. 

He had no control, however, over the actions of his body. He felt his mouth fill with a foul taste, and then his stomach retched. The vomit that had risen was forcefully spewed into the other’s mouth, which then flew out from the sides of both their lips and down their chins. Akaashi briefly thought that vomit was bad as it was, but certainly worse when it came in as backwash from another person’s mouth. He spit more vomit out of his now free mouth, coughing and sputtering on the acidic taste. 

The man that had just a moment ago been groping him was clearly disgusted, uttering a string of curse words and shoving Akaashi away from him. Akaashi lost his balance and tumbled to the floor of the bathroom, where some of his vomit had fallen. He shakily tried to gain some sense of balance, reaching up to open the bathroom door and crawl out. The man he left behind was still cursing, and Akaashi could hear water running as he did his best to scurry away from the scene. 

He found himself at another door, and he leaned up to push on the metal bar that opened it. His only thoughts were to escape the man in the bathroom. He tumbled out of the hallway and into the cold October air. The ground he landed on was hard, and he felt small pebbles digging into his palms like tiny knives. He continued to crawl down the dark alleyway in a drunken haste to reach safety. He only made it a few feet before he began to retch again, vomit dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. He curled into himself and leaned against the brick wall behind him, still able to hear the dull thud of the music coming from inside. 

*

The first thing he noticed when he regained some level of awareness was the sticky feeling on his chin. Akaashi looked around in a daze, the air cold and biting on his exposed skin. Why was he outside in just a t-shirt and jeans? It was October, the air was cold at night. Surely he would bring a jacket with him.

Also, why was he sitting in an alley? Akaashi registered his surroundings one thing at a time: a garbage can, bags of garbage, a discarded energy drink can, vomit.

Vomit. 

Oh no. 

The memories, though muddled, came back. He remembered dancing with Noya. His little body bouncing around him to the beat, and Akaashi remembers laughing at his antics. 

He remembered Oikawa grinning at him, almost endearingly, and laughing when he took Akaashi’s hand and twirled him around, causing Akaashi to lose his balance.

He remembered seeing Noya and Asahi kissing, and feeling intrusive in the moment, and even a little jealous. He wished he could have someone that close to him, who could see past his walls and see that he was drowning in a black sea of jitters and anxiety every day. 

He remembered how he had watched Oikawa melt into the crowd. Had he tried to follow him? And then someone had been touching his body, but he didn’t know them. 

He remembered the feeling of a body against him and a wall behind him, panic rising in his throat. And then, along with the panic, the vomit. So much acidic, burning vomit, all over him and the stranger. 

Somehow Akaashi had managed to make it into this alley, he knew that much. But now what? He was still confused, and he was trembling violently. He couldn’t tell if he was shaking from the chill in the air or from a rising panic attack at his situation. 

He leaned forward as he felt more bile rising, thick and heavy, in his throat. His stomach convulsed and he retched again, spilling the contents of his stomach all over his shirt and onto the ground next to him. 

He sluggishly felt around his jean pockets, searching for his phone. He had no idea where it had ended up. He thought perhaps he had left it at the bar, or maybe he dropped it in the bathroom. He couldn’t remember, and he probably wouldn’t even be able to muster the coherency to dial anyone’s number or send a text message at this moment anyway. 

He felt his eyelids drooping, overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He knew he was a sleepy drunk. He always had been, memories of falling asleep in weird places throughout college floating in the back of his mind. He had quit drinking like that after his first year, after he had woken up outside, drenched and shivering from the rain. He had found himself lost in the middle of a patch of forest behind a classmate’s home, missing clothes and money, and he had felt ashamed. His first year at college had offered him the first taste of freedom that he’d ever had, but he had found the only way to quell his deeply rooted anxieties was with burning liquid. He vowed to never allow himself in a situation like that again, even if it meant remaining slave to his anxiety. 

He let out a heavy chuckle, thinking how he had failed that endeavor. Here he was, drunk, sitting in an alleyway behind a club in the city, having narrowly escaped being sexually assaulted, covered in his own vomit.

_Good job, Akaashi. You’re a real winner._ His thoughts were bitter like the taste in his mouth. He just wanted to sleep.

A door opened behind him, and he registered the red light spilling over him from the hallway inside the club. Panic gripped him again as he thought perhaps the man in the bathroom had come looking for him. Would he finish what he started? Akaashi recalled his anger after they had shared his vomit. Perhaps what he was planning was worse than Akaashi could imagine.

From somewhere deep inside him he found the strength to fumble to his knees and begin to crawl away. He knew he couldn’t outrun this man in his current state, but maybe he could move before he saw him. Maybe he could get to the street and someone would help him. Maybe he could hide in the shadows.

His hand landed in a pool of warm, sticky throw up. He barely had time to be disgusted by his own sick before his hand slipped from under him and he landed face down on the hard ground. He groaned and rolled away from the puddle, stomach turning at the smell. He struggled to sit up again, slowly backing away from the silhouette of a man in the red lights.

He felt hands on his shoulders, strong and sturdy. His eyes flew open and met golden ones. This wasn’t the man from the bathroom, was it? Akaashi didn’t think so. The warm, honey colored gaze made his chest feel warm, not frightened. Like he had taken more sips of that whiskey.

The man before him was saying something, but it was muddled and Akaashi couldn’t understand. He simply stared at the man, his mouth hanging open slightly, breathing heavily from the effort he had just put forth in escaping. The man disappeared from his vision as abruptly as he had appeared, and Akaashi wondered if he was hallucinating. The door slammed shut, and then a few moments later busted open again, once more bathing Akaashi in red light.

The golden eyed man had returned, and he was slipping one arm under Akaashi’s and the other around his waist to hoist him up from his sitting position. Akaashi wobbled on his legs, feeling much like a toddler attempting to walk on his own for the first time. His head lolled to one shoulder and he slumped back against the other man’s chest.

There was a pause in movements, then Akaashi felt his feet leave the ground. Maybe he was falling?

No. He was floating.

Warm, strong arms cradled him. He briefly registered entering a building through another doorway, this one without the red lights, and then the feeling of ascending a staircase. Then he leaned his head against the shoulder of the one carrying him, and his vision went black.


	3. Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing like crazy because I literally have nothing better to do while being quarantined in my apartment. I just finished chapter 6 today, I'm starting chapter 7, and I'll probably post another chapter later. This story is kind of taking on a life of its own, and I've stopped following my outline. Whoops.

It occurred to Bokuto that he performed a lot of duties outside of his basic job description. He was grateful for the job, given to him by a friend who knew he needed to extra cash from tips. It was better than bartending in a sleezy bar. This place was much more upscale, the college kids tipped well, and it was generally safer than most other places.

But damn, how many times was he going to have to collect drunken people from the crevices of this sin-factory and send them on their way? 

The man at the bar was different than most of the people who came to hang out at this club. He was used to seeing the occasional lone wolf, but they usually found their way out to the dance floor or in a booth as soon as they caught the eye of someone who interested them. 

Many people had eyed up the quiet man at the bar, Bokuto being one of them, but he hadn’t seemed to show any regard or interest in them. Bokuto was surprised, honestly, when he allowed the bartender to keep chatting with him. 

So, when the pretty faced friend of his caught his attention and started asking about his quiet companion, Bokuto couldn’t help but feel concerned. He hadn’t known him for more than a few hours, but he certainly didn’t seem like the kind of person to wander off with a stranger. 

When he flung the backdoor open to peer into the alley, he was shocked to find the dark-haired man sitting there not five feet away. Bokuto saw him flinch, and then watched with pity as he made a feeble attempt to crawl away. It dawned on Bokuto that the man he had seen in the bathroom had been covered in vomit, and he could see vomit surrounding this man. Bokuto cringed when he watched him slip in his own sick and fall to the ground. 

Bokuto’s mind was going a million miles an hour. He was used to chaos of the club; he thrived on it, honestly. It was easier for him to focus when the world around him was in chaos. As long as his physical surroundings reflected his inner mindset, he could actually focus enough to complete a task. But here, the alley was quiet and serene, aside from the trembling boy at his feet. Bokuto didn’t do well with quiet. 

He knelt and grabbed the man’s shoulders, attempting to steady his quaking. 

“Hey! Are you okay? Your friends are looking for you. Can you stand?” Bokuto spoke loudly, and he winced at his own volume. _You aren’t surrounded by booming music anymore, Koutarou. Inside voice._

The man continued to tremble under Bokuto’s grip, and he stared at him with intense, dark eyes. Bokuto wondered what color they were. Blue? Green? Gray? He couldn’t tell inside, and he certainly couldn’t tell here in the dark alley.

_Hey! Kou! Focus!_ He shook his head rapidly, a voice reminding him to keep his attention on the task at hand. This was not the time for wandering thoughts. 

He got no response from the other man, who just looked confused and tired. Bokuto was pretty sure he hadn’t registered a thing he’d said to him. Bokuto had to make a decision (something else he was terrible at doing). He thought for a moment, then jumped up and bounded back inside the club. He thought if he could just get the pretty faced friend, he could help the drunk man in the alley, and everything would be fine. 

However, when Bokuto returned to the bar, he saw no sign of the other man. He glanced around, the club mostly empty at this point, and saw no sign of him or the other two men he had been with. Glancing down, Bokuto saw a napkin on the bar with a phone number scribbled on it. He picked it up. 

‘I’m sorry I had to leave! If you find Akaashi, PLEASE call me! – Oikawa’

Bokuto sighed. What now? Why had Oikawa had to leave without his friend? That was strange.

He suddenly remembered that Akaashi was still in the alley, alone and probably even more confused. He cursed himself for leaving him there, running back outside to him. Akaashi hadn’t moved, still looking as dazed and stunned as ever. Bokuto needed to help him; he was much too drunk to get anywhere on his own now, even in a taxi. And since he had been throwing up, there was a good chance he would do so again until his body had purged itself of the excess alcohol in his system. 

The only logical solution at this point was to get Akaashi somewhere safe. Bokuto hoisted the drunk man up, catching him as he wobbled and collapsed against him. There was no way he could walk. He was barely conscious. Bokuto leaned down and lifted Akaashi into his arms, cradling him against his chest. He was suddenly more grateful than ever that Suga had converted the space above the club into an apartment and let Bokuto rent the space. He didn’t have to walk far, just a bit further down the alley, to another door that opened to the staircase leading to his apartment door. 

Bokuto balanced Akaashi against his chest with one arm and a lifted knee as he unlocked the door and entered. He readjusted the man in his arms to more easily carry him up the steps, noting that Akaashi was completely limp against him. The drunk man’s head fell against Bokuto’s shoulder, and Bokuto saw that Akaashi was totally unconscious. He wasn’t surprised. 

He managed to unlock the second door at the top of the steps without waking Akaashi and carried him into the entryway of his apartment. Hurrying over to his couch, he laid Akaashi down gently, making sure he didn’t hit his head on the armrest. 

Then he took a moment to assess the situation. His brain was moving fast again, but he knew that at least Akaashi was safe at this moment. He looked down at the sleeping man, grimacing at the vomit that covered his dark shirt and had dried on his chin and cheeks. Bokuto knew he wouldn’t want to sleep in his own sick, so he turned and went to his bathroom to get a washcloth and towel. He wet the cloth with warm water, then returned to Akaashi and used it to gently wipe away the dried vomit on his face. Akaashi never even stirred, further indicating to Bokuto that he was completely intoxicated. He tried his best not to scrub the man’s delicate skin too harshly, and he finally managed to wipe away the sick and used the towel to pat his face dry. 

There was no way that Bokuto could get the vomit out of Akaashi’s shirt with just a washcloth, but he didn’t want to leave the man to sleep in it. He quickly went to his bedroom down the hall, grabbing an older t-shirt of his and bringing it back to the living room. He gently lifted Akaashi up, propping him against his shoulder as he wiggled the soiled shirt off Akaashi’s frame. He couldn’t help but notice the way Akaashi’s muscles stretched over his back and forearms. His skin looked white in the dull light of his apartment, soft and unmarred. 

_Focus._

Bokuto shook his head, pushing away the distracting thoughts, and slipped his t-shirt over Akaashi’s head, coaxing the unconscious man’s arms in and then settling him back down on the couch. He looked peaceful, and Bokuto knew that there was nothing else he could do at this point. He stood, grabbed a glass of water and left it on the coffee table beside the couch with a note with his phone number on it in case Akaashi awoke. Then he sprinted back down the steps of his apartment, locking the doors behind him, and returned to the club to finish his closing duties. 

He managed to quickly shut everything down, splitting tips with the waitresses; he and the bouncer, Tanaka, saw them off to their cars and taxis before officially closing down. Bokuto waved goodbye to Tanaka as the bouncer left, returning to the bar and collecting the random things he kept back there for his shifts. He found the napkin note written by Oikawa sitting next to his phone charger, and he decided it would be a good time to call him.

Dialing the number on the napkin, he waited patiently for the pretty faced boy to answer. 

He picked up on the third ring, sounding out of breath and frustrated. 

“This is Oikawa.”

“Oikawa, this is Bokuto.”

He was quiet on the other line, and Bokuto kicked himself briefly, realizing that he wouldn’t know his name. Duh. “The bartender at the club. You asked me to call if I found Akaashi.”

Oikawa made a gasping noise on the other end. “Oh! Yeah! Yeah! Did you find him? Is he okay? Where is he?”

“I found him. He was really sick, still is, and now he’s passed out on my couch in my apartment.”

Oikawa sighed on the other end, and Bokuto heard someone yelling in the background. It was incoherent, but Oikawa yelled back about staying where they were. “I’m so sorry I had to leave,” he said, returning to his phone call with Bokuto. “My friend Noya, the tiny one, bolted out of the club after I told him we were looking for Akaashi. He wanted to find him himself, but he was just running off in a random direction. We had to go after him so he wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

Bokuto chuckled under his breath, picturing the small man he had seen a few times that night bolting down the streets of Tokyo.

“As soon as I get Noya and Asahi home I can come get Akaashi,” Oikawa said, bringing Bokuto’s attention back to the conversation. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Bokuto used his normal loud, assuring tone. He really wasn’t bothered by helping Akaashi. He had been kind to him, humoring his stories and keeping him company at work that night. He was glad that Akaashi was safe. “If it’s too much trouble to go back and forth, Akaashi can just crash at my place tonight.”

Oikawa was silent for a moment. “Look, no offense,” he finally said, “but we barely know you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to you for helping. But Akaashi is really vulnerable right now and I can’t just leave him overnight with a stranger.”

Bokuto hummed. “I totally get what you’re saying. And I won’t prevent you from coming to get your friend. But he’s safe where he is, I promise. I know how hard it can be to take care of drunk people. I basically do it as a profession. But your hyper friend is clearly a handful in and of himself, aside from the alcohol, and you might have a harder time getting him home than you’re hoping. You’re already having a hard time keeping him wherever you are right now.”

Oikawa made a sound that made Bokuto think he was probably sneering at his words. “I just can’t leave Akaashi alone with you. You could take advantage of him.”

“Oikawa, if I wanted to take advantage of Akaashi, I would have done it by now.”

Bokuto’s words were low and steady, and Oikawa didn’t respond immediately. Bokuto had seen firsthand how many times people would use the effects of alcohol to their benefit. He had helped Tanaka kick a fair share of deplorable men and women out of the club after they had found them taking advantage of weakened people. And Bokuto knew that those people didn’t wait to take their chance – they snatched it as soon as it presented itself. 

“I don’t hurt people, Oikawa. I just want to make sure your friends are all safe, just like you. And I promise that Akaashi is safe.” Bokuto spoke softly, something he didn’t do often, but he wanted to convey as much sincerity as he could without being face-to-face with the other. 

Oikawa was not a genius, but he was incredibly perceptive. He could read people like books, something that he had always been gifted at, but honed the skill after he had entered the world of modeling. People were vicious in his industry; always clambering for more money, exposure, fame, etc. If he wanted to succeed, he had to know who to trust and who to keep at arm’s length. 

That was why he had joined Asahi’s company. Asahi was someone who could be trusted beyond all doubt, and the same went for Akaashi. Neither man had any intentions of using Oikawa, and Oikawa had been able to find a group of people who rooted for his success just as much as he rooted for theirs. So, to say he was protective of his friends was an understatement. 

But something in Bokuto’s voice soothed Oikawa’s fears of sinister intentions. He thought back to Akaashi’s interactions with the bartender that night, remembering how his quiet friend had seemed captivated by the other when he would approach the bar. Oikawa had almost felt like he was intruding a few times. And Akaashi had waved fondly at the man as he had entered the crowd on the dance floor. He had seemed, almost, as if he was genuinely enjoying his time with the golden eyed man and was sad to see it end. And besides, when Oikawa had first found himself concerned about Akaashi’s whereabouts, the first place he had gone was back to the bar to ask Bokuto for help. 

He was no genius, but he was perceptive. And Bokuto was someone he could trust. 

“Alright,” came his quiet reply. “I know it’s late, and Akaashi needs to sleep this off. Thank you for letting him stay with you.”

Bokuto opened his mouth to reply, but Oikawa cut him off.

“But if anything changes, you call me. I will come get him. And if I find out that you did _anything_ ,” Oikawa’s voice dropped suddenly, taking on a slightly threatening tone, “to Akaashi, I will kill you.” 

Bokuto nodded, even though he knew Oikawa couldn’t see it. “I promise he’s safe with me. I’ll have him call you in the morning once he’s awake.”

They ended their call, and Bokuto shut the lights off in the club. He locked up the building, then walked to the entrance of his apartment and ascended the steps. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered his living room, but it certainly wasn’t Akaashi sitting up in the middle of the couch, looking pitifully frightened and confused, his wide eyes meeting Bokuto’s when he entered the home. 

“Hey…” Bokuto’s voice was quiet, and he approached Akaashi with the cautiousness of approaching a scared and wounded animal. He kept his movements slow and his voice quiet. “How are you feeling? I left water for you in case you were thirsty.”

Akaashi curled his knees to his chest, tucking the blanket Bokuto had given him under his chin. His eyes were wide and glassy. Bokuto could finally tell their color: steel blue. He briefly thought that Akaashi was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in his life. 

_Focus!_ The voice snapped his attention back before his thoughts could run off without his permission. Akaashi never replied to Bokuto, only continued to stare at him. Bokuto sat down on the couch next to his frightened guest. 

Frowning, Bokuto leaned in a little closer. “I got ahold of your friend, Oikawa. Your other friends ran off, so he had to go help them. I told him you could stay here for the night, but if you want to go home, I can take you. Or I can call Oikawa.” He added the last part as an afterthought, realizing that Akaashi might not want to trust this stranger and might want his friend instead. 

Akaashi’s eyes flickered around the apartment briefly, landing on the glass of water on the coffee table. Much to Bokuto’s surprise and, quite frankly, panic, his steely eyes filled suddenly with tears. They spilled over the rims of his eyes, falling down his smooth cheeks in big, heavy droplets. 

“Whoa…” Bokuto instinctively reached out to touch Akaashi’s shoulder. The other flinched, but he didn’t shake the hand away. Bokuto could feel him trembling. 

“They left me behind.” Akaashi’s voice was barely a whisper, and Bokuto almost missed what he said. 

“No! No, no, no!” Bokuto waved his hands about frantically. “Oikawa said he’d come back for you! I can call him back. He’ll come back.” Bokuto fumbled in his pockets, trying to find his cell phone to call Oikawa back. But before he could make the call, Akaashi turned to him and gave a deep, full blown sob before leaning forward and resting his head on Bokuto’s shoulder. 

“I hate alcohol and I’ll never drink again!” His voice was steady now, albeit a bit dramatic. “Stupid Shittykawa will never convince me to do this again!” He hiccupped, a hand covering his mouth. 

Bokuto couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname Akaashi used for his friend, and it was clear that Akaashi was still heavily intoxicated. Akaashi sat up abruptly, eyes wide again, his hand still over his mouth. 

“Mm gonna be sick,” he mumbled, words muffled by his hand. 

Bokuto jumped up in panic, frantically searching his surroundings for a waste bin or bucket. He dashed into his bathroom to grab the one he kept in there, barely making it back to Akaashi before he started retching again. Bokuto rubbed soothing circles between Akaashi’s shoulders as he vomited, eventually just dry heaving into the bin. He sat up, coughing, tears lingering in the corners of his eyes, and groaned. 

“At least that means there’s nothing left to throw up,” Bokuto said quietly, going into the kitchen to wet a paper towel and dab Akaashi’s forehead with it. Akaashi hummed at the touch, leaning into it slightly. He kept his eyes closed, breathing steadily, and Bokuto wondered if he had fallen back asleep like that. 

Then Akaashi groaned again and curled in on himself. It was clear that he still felt awful, and Bokuto felt guilt bubble up in his stomach as he watched the quiet man shiver under the thin blanket covering him. Thinking back to the times he had been drunk, Bokuto knew that passing out on a couch was not desirable. He also thought it was sort of rude to make his guest sleep on his lumpy couch. So, for the second time that night, Bokuto hoisted Akaashi into his arms and cradled him against his chest. 

He carried him down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Laying Akaashi down gently, Bokuto turned to click the bedside lamp on. He tucked Akaashi under his comforter, then grabbed his own pajamas and a spare pillow on his bed, turning off the light as he left the room. He changed in the bathroom, splashing his face with water and brushing his teeth before going out to his living room and laying on his couch. He fell asleep shortly after.


	4. Black Tights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to upload this yesterday, but I got distracted by reading other fanfiction and then I fell asleep...

Sunlight flooded through thin curtains hanging on the window across the room. Akaashi blinked against it blearily, the throbbing in his temples intensifying as he opened his eyes fully. He immediately regretted his choice. 

With a loud groan, he rolled over in bed and buried his face under the pillow, hiding from the bright light that made his throbbing head feel like it was going to split apart. He settled under the pillow, taking a deep breath. In an abrupt moment of clarity, he realized that the smell of this pillow was not his own. It had a hint of spice, like cinnamon mixed with fresh smelling laundry detergent. It was certainly not the laundry detergent he used. His didn’t have any scent. 

He slid out from underneath the pillow, sitting up slowly, trying to prevent his stomach from turning with nausea again. This was not his room. This was not his bed. He looked down and almost choked on his own spit. 

This was not his shirt. 

Oh no. Did he go home with the bathroom man? Akaashi couldn’t remember everything, but he remembered snippets of the bathroom encounter. He couldn’t see himself actually going home with someone who was groping him like that. He wasn’t that kind of person. He would never drink alcohol again. 

Akaashi glanced around the unfamiliar space, trying to glean any information he could from his surroundings. The room was relatively bare, just an end table next to the bed with only a lamp and a pill bottle on it. There was also a chair across the room by the open closet. It had clothes draped haphazardly across it, discarded there instead of placed in the closet or the dresser on the opposite wall. Akaashi noted with interest that the article of clothing at the top of the pile looked like a pair of black tights. 

And then his eyes widened, and he smacked himself in the forehead. 

_Holy shit._

Akaashi felt his heartbeat quicken and he began to feel frantic. He had clearly gone home with someone the night before, and he thought it was bad if it was Bathroom Guy. But this was much worse.

He’d gone home with a _girl._

Untangling his legs from the comforter, he noted that he still had his jeans on. That gave him some comfort; if he was still wearing his jeans, that means they probably didn’t have sex. But what kind of woman had a shirt that would fit him this way? Said t-shirt was slipping off Akaashi’s slender shoulder. He had oversized t-shirts too, but not this oversized. 

_Wow, Akaashi, you’re built so much like a woman that a girl’s t-shirt is loose on you. How lame._

Shaking away the unwanted thought, Akaashi stood on wobbly legs and made his way to the doorway. Peering down the short hallway, he tried to think of a way to explain to this girl that he was gay. Would she freak out? He figured it was a bit of a blow to one’s ego if you go home with someone and they aren’t even attracted to you sexually. But maybe she didn’t care, since they probably didn’t sleep together. Maybe she was just a nice girl who took pity on him. 

He took a deep breath, walking quietly down the hallway and entering the living room. He didn’t see anyone there. Glancing around, he heard a soft clink in the room to his left. Peering into the entryway, he saw a person standing at the sink of the kitchen. Akaashi suddenly felt much more confused. 

The person at the sink was not a woman. It was also not Bathroom Guy. His black and white hair, slicked back, seemed familiar. He was humming to himself. Akaashi listened for a moment, thinking he’d heard it somewhere. Was he humming showtunes? 

Akaashi cleared his throat timidly, not wanting to startle the one standing at the sink but also feeling awkward just standing there, staring. The man looked over his shoulder, meeting Akaashi’s eyes with his own. 

Oh. 

Those golden eyes helped Akaashi remember. This was the bartender from the club, the one whom he had spent his night talking to before everything went south. Why was he in the bartender’s apartment? God, how much had he actually had to drink? 

“Good morning!” The man’s voice was bright and cheery, just like it had been the night prior. Akaashi began to fiddle with his fingers, staring at his feet.

“Morning…” His voice was quiet. 

“I didn’t expect you to be up this early. You were pretty drunk.” The golden eyed man laughed, turning to face Akaashi. “Are you hungry? I was going to make myself breakfast, I can make you something too.” 

Akaashi finally looked up to meet the other’s gaze. “I don’t want to intrude. I mean, more than I already have. Um…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words without being rude. “How did I end up here?”

“You’re not intruding. I’ll make eggs. Those help me when I’m hungover. I’m sure you are, you look terrible.” The man rambled on for a bit, not answering Akaashi’s question, as he bounced around his kitchen to collect ingredients for breakfast. Akaashi briefly thought that telling him he looked terrible was a little forward, but he was probably right. Akaashi felt terrible, so he probably looked it, too. 

“What do you remember about last night?”

Akaashi’s attention was brought back by the other’s question, and he pondered it for a moment before answering. “I remember talking to you, and then I remember going out to the dance floor. I danced with my friends and then…” He began to fiddle with his fingers again, ducking his head. “There was a stranger. And we were in the bathroom, but I didn’t want to be. And I remember throwing up and then trying to leave.”

He quieted, looking up when he realized that his companion had stopped moving. The man was staring at Akaashi with a startling intensity. His golden eyes looked molten.  
“Did the man in the bathroom hurt you?” His words were steady, but Akaashi sensed a smoldering anger lingering right below the surface. 

Akaashi shook his head. “I threw up on him then got away. I remember being outside, but not much after that.” He felt himself shiver. “I was afraid I had gone home with him anyway. I’m not like that.” 

The last part of his statement was quiet, barely above a whisper. He felt the need to tell this man that he didn’t go home with strangers. At least not willingly. Akaashi wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, but he was still quiet and reserved about it. He could never muster the courage to have one-night stands. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him that this man knew that, but it did. 

The other had visibly deflated from his defensive pose. He let out a puff of air and turned back to the stove. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you. I thought maybe you had been the one who had thrown up on him, but I wasn’t sure how you had ended up in that situation. It never dawned on me that maybe he was trying to take advantage of you, but if it had I wouldn’t have let him leave.” He turned back to Akaashi. “I’m sorry you were almost hurt, though. Are you okay? Like, do you need to talk about it?”

Akaashi shook his head again. “Thank you, but I’d rather not dwell on it.” He stared at the man while he cooked the eggs. “Did you find me in the alley?”

“Yes. Your friend was worried about you. Oikawa. He asked me to help look for you, and I thought maybe you had fallen asleep in the bathroom. It happens a lot. Then I checked the alley to make sure you hadn’t wandered off, and I found you there. Oikawa had to leave with your friends because they ran off to look for you, but they were really drunk and being stupid. I didn’t want to just send you home in a taxi because you were really sick, so I brought you up here to my apartment to sleep it off.” He turned to grab some plates out of the cupboard, putting the finished eggs on them and then bringing them over to the small table in the kitchen. 

Akaashi sat down across from him, his body stiff and awkward from the unfamiliarity of this whole scenario. 

The other continued his explanation: “Oikawa and I talked, and I told him where you were. He was glad you were safe, and I told him you could stay while he got your friends home. You had thrown up on your shirt, so I gave you one of mine to wear. I would have washed yours, but I don’t have a washer here. Sorry!” He laughed at the last thing he said, like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. 

Akaashi nodded, taking a bite of his eggs and chewing slowly. “Thank you,” he said finally. “That was incredibly kind of you. And thank you for breakfast.”

“It’s not a problem! I’m just glad you’re safe. And I hope you’re feeling better! You should call Oikawa when you’re finished eating. I told him I would have you call when you were awake.”

Akaashi remembered suddenly that he didn’t know where his phone was. “I think I lost my phone last night. I don’t remember where I last saw it.” 

His companion got up and walked over to the counter, returning and laying Akaashi’s phone next to him. Akaashi saw that he had about twenty text messages from Oikawa waiting for him, and the battery was almost dead. 

“I found it when I was cleaning up last night. I figured it was yours, so I brought it up here with me,” the golden eyed boy said, smiling sweetly. 

Akaashi felt himself smile softly. “You are literally my life saver.” The other’s cheeks flushed a deep red, a hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly. Akaashi looked up at him. “What is your name? I never got it last night. I should at least know the name of the person who has helped me so much.”

The other man smiled again. He never really stopped smiling. “It’s Bokuto Koutarou.”

Akaashi nodded. “Well, thank you Bokuto-san. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

Bokuto shook his head. “No need for honorifics. You’re welcome, Akaashi.” 

Akaashi finished his breakfast silently, feeling increasingly anxious as he sat across from this strange man. He couldn’t believe the events of the night had landed him in such a situation. How could he let this happen? He had more self-control than this. 

As his head became less muddled from the hangover, and he slowly began to rehydrate, Akaashi became acutely aware of the sour taste in his mouth, the thick film over his teeth, and the unmistakable feeling of dried sweat on his skin. He felt dirty, in more ways than just physically, and it bothered him to be so unkept and flustered in front of Bokuto. He didn’t want Bokuto to think he lived like this. Akaashi was a clean, collected, well-organized person. 

Bokuto almost seemed to read Akaashi’s mind. He disappeared from the kitchen briefly while Akaashi texted Oikawa, returning moments later with a long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and a towel. Akaashi blinked questionably at the pile of fabric as Bokuto presented it to him. 

“The clothes might be a little big on you, but I think they’ll still fit well enough. You can take a shower and get cleaned up. I have extra toothbrushes, I left one on the sink for you in the bathroom,” Bokuto said sweetly. “My teeth always feel really gross after I throw up, but when I brush them, I usually feel a lot better.” Bokuto stuck his tongue out slightly at his words, comically feigning disgust at his imaginary gross teeth. 

Akaashi felt like he could cry. Bokuto was offering so much to a stranger. He wasn’t sure if he had ever met someone so selflessly kind and thoughtful. He accepted the clothing gratefully, heading into the bathroom and stepping into the shower. The warm water felt nice on his sore muscles. Akaashi hadn’t even realized he felt sore. He vaguely remembered pushing against the man in the bathroom. He must have struggled more than he thought. That realization caused a deeper, bigger wave of shame and fear wash over him. He could have really been hurt last night. His stomach knotted briefly, and then unknotted at the thought of Bokuto finding him and helping him. He was lucky, and incredibly thankful to Bokuto. 

He had no choice but to use the products Bokuto had in the shower, but that was fine. He was able to see where the scent of cinnamon came from: Bokuto’s body wash. Akaashi thought that he liked the smell, perhaps he would buy this kind of body wash for himself. 

_You’re such a weirdo._ Akaashi blushed at his own thoughts, wringing his hands anxiously before shoving the thoughts away and finishing his shower. 

He left the bathroom feeling like a new person, running the towel over his hair to soak up the excess water. It was beginning to curl wildly at the ends, and Akaashi frowned, thinking he should really get a haircut. He wasn’t sure where to put the towel or the shirt Bokuto had lent him the night before, but Bokuto took them and placed them in a hamper in his closet. Akaashi watched him quietly for a moment, his eyes landing on the tights again. 

He spoke before he could even give himself permission. “Bokuto, why do you own tights?”

Bokuto looked at Akaashi like he had just spoken to him in a different language. He tipped his head slightly to one side, and Akaashi thought that Bokuto reminded him of an owl. 

“What are you talking about? I don’t own tights.” Akaashi pointed at the clothing on the chair. Bokuto let out a boisterous laugh, walking over to pick them up. “Oh these! These aren’t tights, they’re leggings.”

Akaashi wasn’t totally sure there was a difference, but he humored the other. 

“I only bartend on the weekends to help out my friend who owns the club. He lets me rent this apartment at a lower rate than normal, and in return I basically help keep the club running on the weekends, so he can spend them with his family,” Bokuto explained. He held up the leggings. “My full-time job is a personal trainer. I tend to wear these leggings underneath my gym shorts when the weather gets colder because I hate having to change all the time.” 

Akaashi felt embarrassed. It was a common theme in his life. “Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed,” he mumbled, again starting to fiddle with his fingers. 

Bokuto shook his head as he tossed the leggings back onto the chair. “Akaashi, you apologize too much for things that aren’t wrong. You don’t have to be sorry for trying to get to know someone.” 

He smiled that sweet smile again, and Akaashi blushed. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but clamped it shut when he realized what he was about to do. Instead, he just nodded and returned Bokuto’s smile with his own quiet one. 

*

Akaashi thanked Bokuto as he dropped him off in front of his apartment building. Bokuto had to start his shift at the club soon, but he had insisted on driving Akaashi home instead of the other just taking a bus or train. He said that he owed Oikawa to make sure Akaashi was actually safe. 

“I can return your clothes after I wash them,” Akaashi said as he climbed out of the car. 

Bokuto shrugged. “I don’t really wear those. Keep ‘em! It’ll be like a souvenir from your crazy night!” He laughed loudly, throwing his head back. Akaashi couldn’t help but smile. 

“Thank you again, Bokuto-san.” 

“No honorifics, I told you!” Bokuto pointed at Akaashi in mock sternness. “Take care of yourself, Akaashi Keiji. And feel free to come visit me at the bar anytime! I would love to keep your company again, but I’ll keep a better eye on you next time!” He laughed again, waving goodbye to Akaashi as he drove away. 

Akaashi felt a tug in his chest as he watched the car disappear. It was realistic to say that he’d likely never see Bokuto again. He knew he would never return to that club, and he was pretty sure he was swearing off alcohol altogether. 

He made his way up to his apartment, smiling when his cat mewed at him loudly when he entered. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home last night, Miko,” he said softly, kneeling to pet the little cat that was rubbing her sides against his legs. “You must be hungry.”

He fed Miko as he dialed Oikawa’s number. Oikawa picked up immediately, bombarding Akaashi with questions. Akaashi answered them all in stride, a tender feeling settling in his chest as he realized that his coworker had been genuinely concerned about him. After he had satisfied Oikawa’s concerns and convinced him that he was totally fine, Akaashi settled into his own clothing and sat on his couch. 

His apartment felt big and cold. It wasn’t like Bokuto’s, which was small, but carried an air of homeliness and warmth. Akaashi’s apartment was meticulously clean, with random pieces of art hanging about that his mother had purchased when he moved in. He hadn’t even had a say in where they were hung; he had just returned one afternoon and found her there, hanging them. He shivered, rising to make himself tea. 

He settled back onto his couch, Miko crawling into his lap, and he turned on his television. There was nothing interesting on, so he just turned on the news and then turned down the volume. Listening to the events of the world usually just caused his anxiety to skyrocket. He hated hearing about the struggles and misery that surrounded him. He didn’t need any reminders to be anxious and unsure about the future. 

His mind wandered back to Bokuto; he thought about his warm smile and honey eyes, about his loud laugh and perfect white teeth. Akaashi rolled his eyes at himself. 

_Knock it off. You’re acting like a stupid teenager. This isn’t a romantic movie. Get it together._

Akaashi nodded at his own chastising thoughts, sinking deeper into the quiet that surrounded him, letting his self-deprecating mind have free reign for the night.


	5. Long Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's chapter 5! I'm still working on chapter 7 (I've had a bit of a writer's block), but hopefully I'll have that finished today. I try to make sure I have at least the next chapter finished before I post one, that way I don't just leave you guys hanging.  
> These chapters are gradually getting longer and longer...so be prepared for that haha.  
> Also! Thank you guys SO MUCH for all the comments and the kudos! I try to reply to all your comments because I absolutely love them. You guys literally keep me going and motivate me to write more. I'm so excited that so many of you love this story!

When Akaashi arrived at work that Monday, Oikawa immediately bounded over to him, crushing Akaashi against his chest in a ridiculously affectionate hug. Akaashi grimaced as his glasses smashed into the bridge of his nose, and he knew that he would have to clean them once he escaped Oikawa’s grasp.

“Oikawa, I’m fine. Please let me go,” he muttered against Oikawa’s chest. His coworker released him, and Akaashi straightened his now disheveled clothing.

“Akaashi, I can’t believe you got that drunk! But I’m so glad you’re okay! And I’m so sorry for leaving you there!” Oikawa’s eyes were squeezed shut as he pleaded loudly with Akaashi, who just sighed and smiled softly.

“You’ve already apologized, Oikawa. Stop worrying about it. Now,” Akaashi flipped his planner open, “we have a video conference with the organizers of the upcoming fashion show today, so you’ll need to be in the conference room by ten. Please don’t be late, and please leave your snacks in your office.”

Oikawa’s face morphed into a dramatic pout. “So mean, Aka-kun.”

“Don’t call me that,” Akaashi said without any seriousness, walking to his own office. He gathered the notes he needed for the meeting, placing them in the conference room, before heading to the studio to meet with Asahi and work on more designs.

Asahi was already there, kneeling next to a mannequin with heavy navy fabric draped around it. He was pinning the fabric in certain places, pins resting between his lips, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He glanced over at Akaashi when he heard him enter the room.

Akaashi greeted him, pulling out his sketchbook and flipping to the page that had the dress’s design. He brought it over to the stool next to where Asahi was kneeling, then knelt next to him and began to pin the other side of the fabric.

They worked like that, side-by-side, in relative silence for a good amount of time. Akaashi liked working closely with Asahi, because he was typically a quiet and reserved man. His own nervous demeanor rivaled Akaashi’s at times, but he was usually put together enough to keep Akaashi at ease.

He thought back to their first fashion show with Oikawa, who had been so caught up in socializing with the other models that he was missing his makeup appointment. Akaashi had started to panic, frantically searching for Oikawa while also trying to answer agents’ questions. He had been overwhelmed, and he had felt himself beginning to slip into a panic attack when a makeup artist cornered him, demanding to know where Oikawa was. Asahi had suddenly stepped in, towering over the artist, his voice stern but kind. He had told the artist that Akaashi was not Oikawa’s manager, so he was not in charge of the model. 

Asahi had managed to wrangle Oikawa into a chair, directing the artist over to him, and shooing him away from the panicking Akaashi. Then he had turned to him, smiling softly, and comforting Akaashi. He promised him that he was doing a great job for his first time at a show, told him not to worry so much about Oikawa, and ushered him to his seat in the crowd. Akaashi had been immediately put at ease, and their relationship had been like that ever since. Asahi could tell when Akaashi was overwhelmed, and he understood the feeling, so he never judged Akaashi for it.

Akaashi finished pinning the bottom part of the dress, standing to stretch before he started working on the top half. Asahi glanced up at Akaashi as he yawned, his arms reaching above his head in a long stretch.

“Didn’t have your coffee this morning?” Asahi asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Akaashi frowned. “I woke up late. I’ll make some before our meeting, because I’ll surely need it while dealing with those organizers. They always have too much energy.”

Asahi stood, nodding. “Not to mention Oikawa’s energy,” he added, laughing softly. Then he looked directly at Akaashi, his face serious. “Are you okay after what happened on Friday? I’m sorry that Noya and I ran off like that. I can’t believe I let myself get like that.” Asahi blushed.

“Please don’t apologize,” Akaashi replied. “Oikawa has literally apologized to me around one hundred times for it all. I’m just glad you and Noya were able to have fun. You deserve to let go occasionally.”

“So do you, Akaashi,” Asahi said.

Akaashi swallowed a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t do well letting go like…that.” He paused, shaking the nerves from his hands so he wouldn’t prick himself with a pin. “I ended up in a situation that could have ended really badly. Thankfully it didn’t, but I was stupid to not keep better control of myself.”

“What happened, Akaashi?” Asahi’s words were full of concern, and Akaashi immediately felt bad for making him worry. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he already had, so he briefly explained the bathroom encounter to Asahi. He made sure to emphasize that nothing had actually happened, and he also made sure to emphasize that Bokuto had helped him and that he had been totally safe.

Asahi’s eyes were still wide by the time Akaashi stopped talking, and for the second time that day Akaashi found himself smashed into someone’s chest in a tight hug.

“Akaashi, I’m so sorry. I’m so glad you’re okay, and I promise we’ll never put you in a situation like that ever again,” Asahi said, his voice louder than usual.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Asahi. And I’m okay, I promise. But thank you,” Akaashi replied softly, pulling away from Asahi’s hug and returning to their work.

At lunch, Asahi told Oikawa about what Akaashi had said to him. Akaashi flinched as Oikawa all but flipped the table they were sitting at, scolding Akaashi for not telling him. Akaashi simply said that he hadn’t mentioned it because Oikawa had never asked what happened, and Oikawa quieted at that, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Akaashi again assured his coworkers that he was fine, really, and to stop worrying so much.

“What if something like that happens again, though, Akaashi?” Asahi asked.

“Can you defend yourself? Like, sure, you were drunk, but could you defend yourself if someone tried to hurt you?” Oikawa added to Asahi’s question. He looked genuinely concerned. “I know you take the train home most days, and sometimes you work late. Maybe you should take defense classes or something, just to be prepared.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Guys, it’s not like we work or live in a dangerous part of the city. I don’t feel unsafe, I never have. I’m fine.” He thought back, however, to the man against him in the bathroom, specifically how he couldn’t push him away. Oikawa was right, he had been drunk and that surely affected his strength, but would he have been able to push that man off him had he been sober? Akaashi wasn’t sure.

“We’re just saying it couldn’t hurt,” Asahi said. He looked at Akaashi for a moment before continuing. “You used to play volleyball in high school, right?”

Akaashi nodded, unsure where this was going. Oikawa reached across the table and squeezed Akaashi’s forearm, causing Akaashi to jerk away violently.

“What the hell!” he yelped, his face flushing at his own outburst. Asahi chuckled and Oikawa beamed.

“Aka-kun, if you played volleyball, you’ve certainly lost your muscle mass,” Oikawa said teasingly.

It was true that Akaashi hadn’t played volleyball in years. It was also true that he didn’t really workout, but he ate healthy most of the time and occasionally went for runs. He examined his own thin wrists and slender arms, frowning.

“What’s your point?” he asked, still sour about Oikawa’s teasing.

“What if you joined a gym and built some of that muscle back up?” Asahi suggested, exchanging a bemused glance with Oikawa.

“Then, if anything bad happens, you would be able to defend yourself. Quite frankly,” Oikawa looked Akaashi up and down in a way that made him feel self-conscious, “you wouldn’t be able to do much damage to anyone with those flimsy arms.”

Akaashi scowled. “Like you’re one to talk, Oikawa.” He had to admit, though, that his coworkers had a point. He wasn’t afraid, he meant that. But it was true that in a situation when it really mattered, Akaashi hadn’t been able to defend himself much. Also, he would probably benefit from having something to do after work instead of just sitting at home feeling lonely and anxious like he usually did. If nothing else, he could agree just to make the other two feel better.

“Okay,” he said, rolling his eyes when Oikawa smiled like it was the best news he’d ever gotten. “If it makes you two feel better, I’ll join a gym. I could stand to rebuild some muscle.”

*

There was a gym a few blocks away from the building where Akaashi worked, easily within walking distance. It was really the best gym to join since Akaashi wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of going when he left work because of its proximity. He didn’t have any workout clothes with him, but he figured he would go sign up for a membership and then start the next day.

He walked towards the gym, enjoying the October sunshine, his bag slung across his body. He was also toting the dress that he and Asahi had been working on over his shoulder, tucked safely in a dress bag to keep it clean. He and Asahi had finished pinning it and cutting away the excess fabric that afternoon, and Akaashi had decided to take it home with him to begin sewing it all together. He knew that Asahi didn’t approve of his taking work home as often as he did, but Akaashi liked having something to keep his mind occupied in his empty apartment. Plus, the fashion show was not too far off, and they still had a few pieces to get together. This would give them a head start on that.

He rounded the corner and entered the entrance to the gym. It was situated on the ground floor of a larger building that was home to various exercise classes on the upper levels. Akaashi had seen people doing cycling and yoga classes the few times he had passed the building on his way home.

He approached the empty counter, glancing around for an employee. There weren’t many people in the gym at that time, just a few scattered about on various machines and by the weights. It occurred to him that he probably looked out of place in his button down, dark dress pants, and shined shoes, carrying a dress over his shoulder.

_Could you look any gayer right now, Akaashi? You’re going to get your ass kicked just by existing at this point._ Akaashi sighed at his own thoughts, wishing he could push them and their loudness away.

They were interrupted, however, by something even louder.

“Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi!”

He startled at the outburst, his head snapping in the direction of the words. His stomach flip-flopped immediately when he laid his eyes upon the person addressing him.

Standing there, waving his hands enthusiastically above his ridiculous hair, wearing his leggings under his gym shorts, was none other than Bokuto. There was a man lifting weights below him, and Akaashi winced when the man started to struggle with keeping them steady. Bokuto, who was supposed to be spotting him but had become distracted by Akaashi, snapped his attention back to the man on the bench and frantically helped him reposition the weight, apologizing bashfully for his inattention.

This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t supposed to see Bokuto ever again. How could he have managed to pick the one gym where Bokuto was a personal trainer? There were dozens of gyms in the city, and Akaashi had picked the one that Bokuto worked at? His anxiety had reminded him that his life was not a romantic movie in any way, even if Akaashi had fantasized about it. He had come to terms with it, pushing away his wishful thinking whenever it arose, but now it was beginning to look like the universe might enjoy making a joke out of his life.

He turned on his heel to leave the gym, his anxiety convincing him that he should definitely not join this gym. There was no way he could allow himself to spend more time with Bokuto and give himself false hope. He was about to bolt out the door when a bright voice caught his attention from behind the counter.

“Sorry, I had to use the bathroom! Can I help you?”

Akaashi turned back to the counter, finding a small boy there with wild, orange hair. Did everyone Bokuto interacted with have crazy hair? Was that a requirement for being friends with him? Akaashi wasn’t sure he could commit to something like that.

_He doesn’t want to be your friend anyway, dummy._

“Um,” Akaashi stuttered, clearing his throat. “I was thinking about getting a membership here.”

He needed to think of a way out of this quickly. When the orange haired boy started enthusiastically explaining the various membership packages they had, Akaashi found his out.

“Ah, ha,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and trying his best to look embarrassed, not like it was hard. “You know, I’m not sure I can afford something like that right now. Sorry for wasting your time.”

The orange haired boy nodded at first, but then Bokuto appeared behind the counter, slapping the boy on his back.

“Hinata, this is a friend of mine!” he boomed, smiling in his usual ear-to-ear way. “He can use my employee discount. That should make it totally affordable for him.” Bokuto finally met Akaashi’s eyes, and despite his casual and playful tone, his golden gaze was serious, almost challenging.

Akaashi swallowed hard. He had been caught. There was no way he could decline that offer without being rude, and Bokuto had seen where Akaashi lived. His apartment building certainly wasn’t extravagant, but it wasn’t a tiny apartment in the back of an alley above a nightclub. Akaashi couldn’t fool Bokuto, who was apparently much more perceptive than Akaashi had pinned him for at first. It was also a blatant lie; he totally could afford the membership without any discount.

“That’s very kind of you, Bokuto-san,” he mumbled, nodding at the other man.

Bokuto rolled his eyes at Akaashi’s continued use of the honorific. He got Akaashi the forms he would need and gave Akaashi a strange look when he hung up the dress bag on a coat hanger before beginning to fill out the forms. Akaashi swallowed his embarrassment and pretended he hadn’t seen the look.

“So, what made you want to join a gym?” Bokuto asked, leaning on the counter and watching Akaashi intently.

Akaashi could feel Bokuto’s eyes burning a hole in his head, but he refused to look up at him. His eyes made Akaashi’s mind feel like putty, so he needed to avoid that if he didn’t want to seem like a total idiot around this man.

“My coworkers were worried about what happened over the weekend. They thought I should take self-defense classes, but they settled with me joining a gym so I can get stronger. I’m not worried about it ever happening again, but it makes them feel better. Plus,” Akaashi finally looked up, “I could stand to have something to do after work.”

Bokuto’s face lit up at his words. “Akaashi! That’s a great idea! I could be your personal trainer! I’ll help you get super strong so you can kick anyone’s ass who looks at you the wrong way!” He flexed his arms dramatically, causing Hinata to laugh at him. Then he turned back to Akaashi, a playful glint in his eye. “And I’ll even be your trainer, free of charge. Totally on me.”

Akaashi sputtered. “No, Bokuto-san. I will not allow you to do that. Plus, I don’t need a personal trainer.”

“Oh, come on Akaashi,” Bokuto replied, his voice slightly whiny. “You’re going to tell me that you really know all about working out, the best exercises, what works best for your body type? I can help!”

He had a point, which irritated Akaashi. Did he have a plan? Was he just going to come to the gym and wander around, picking random things to do? He knew a few things from volleyball, but most of his working out had just come from constantly practicing the sport. Plus, since Bokuto worked here, he probably wouldn’t leave Akaashi alone while he was there anyway.

“Okay, fine,” he said, resigning himself and swallowing his pride. Bokuto basically began to hum with enthusiasm. “But on one condition.”

Bokuto gave him a questioning look, tilting his head in that way that made him look like an owl. Akaashi noticed that Hinata was watching them from the corner of his eye.

“I’m going to pay full price for your training. I refuse to let you do it free of charge.” Bokuto opened his mouth to protest, but Akaashi cut him off. “Think of it as a thank you for helping me so much over the weekend.”

He seemed satisfied with that, and once Akaashi finished his paperwork, Bokuto sat with him to discuss what type of regimen to develop. Akaashi was impressed at how knowledgeable Bokuto was about the human body and body types. In their discussion, Akaashi found out that Bokuto had also played volleyball in high school. He couldn’t help but feel excited they actually had something in common; they seemed like such different people that Akaashi hadn't thought it was possible.

_Like it matters, he doesn’t want to be friends._ Akaashi frowned at his thoughts, sighing inwardly.

As Akaashi got ready to leave the gym and head home, Bokuto leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“You know,” he said, that teasing tone back in his voice, “you didn’t really have any room asking me about wearing leggings when you cross dress in women’s clothing.”

Akaashi wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then followed Bokuto’s gaze to the dress bag that he had just slung back over his shoulder. He felt his face heat up, burning like he had spent the day in the sun without sunscreen.

“I don’t cross dress!” he exclaimed, his voice a little louder than usual. “This is for my job! I – I work as a clothing designer! This is a piece we’re working on!”

He felt winded from frantically trying to explain himself. Bokuto’s laugh boomed around the gym.

“Akaashi, I’m teasing you! I don’t care what you wear. But,” he smiled sweetly, “I think that’s a pretty cool job. I’d love to see your work sometime. See you on Wednesday!” He gave Akaashi a small wave, then turned and disappeared behind the counter into a backroom.

Hinata gave Akaashi a bright smile himself, waving goodbye to him as Akaashi left the gym. His face still felt hot, even against the cool breeze, and he chastised himself for becoming so easily flustered around Bokuto.

As he caught his train home, it occurred to Akaashi that he had just signed up to spend at least three days a week with Bokuto for the next six weeks. What had he gotten himself into?


	6. Flawless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, halfway there already. I finally finished chapter 7 last night, but I still need to edit it and I am tired, so I probably won't do that today. But, here's chapter 6!  
> If Akaashi seems a little OOC, maybe he is, but I'm basing his struggles and reactions to anxiety on my own, so compulsive oversharing is a trait he had to have.

“Are you even paying attention?”

“I’m totally paying attention.”

“What did I just say then?”

“You said you wanted to go get dinner with me after this.”

“That is definitely not what I said.”

“No… No, that’s definitely what you said. Jeez, Akaashi, maybe you should go see a doctor if you can’t even remember what you said a few seconds ago!”

Bokuto was leaning on his forearms against Akaashi’s back as the other sat on the gym floor. His arms were stretched out between his legs, stretching his muscles after his workout. Bokuto was helping to encourage the best stretch possible – at least, that’s what he claimed. Akaashi was pretty sure that he was just using it as an excuse to smell Akaashi’s hair.

Swatting him away, Akaashi stood and used the collar of his shirt to wipe some sweat off his face. “Bokuto-san, I actually said that I won’t be able to meet with you next Monday after work. Oikawa must go to the venue for the show and Asahi doesn’t trust him to go alone. I am going with him, and I don’t know when we’ll be back. I can’t guarantee it will be in time to make our appointment.”

Bokuto’s face fell slightly before he perked right back up. “That’s okay, Akaashi!” He smiled wide, squeezing his eyes shut. “That just means you’ll have to meet with me on an extra day to complete your regimen! It’ll be an excuse for extra time together!”

Akaashi cheeks flushed lightly, and he hoped that if Bokuto saw, he simply thought it was from his workout. He would never tell him, but Akaashi didn’t need an excuse to want to spend more time with Bokuto. However, he refused to admit it to himself beyond his occasional passing thoughts, but it was hard to keep them at bay when Bokuto said things like…that.

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” he said, hiding his flustered feelings behind a tone of coyness. “I paid you for six weeks of training. I intend to get the most out of it.”

“Aw, Akaashi, and here I took you for the charitable type,” Bokuto replied, his own tone coy as well.

Akaashi couldn’t help the soft chuckle that arose from his chest as he turned from Bokuto and walked to his locker. Bokuto trailed behind, picking up random things left behind from other gym-goers. Akaashi gathered his belonging from the locker, checking his phone briefly before pulling track pants over his gym shorts and slipping his phone into his work bag.

“You could shower here, you know,” Bokuto said to him as Akaashi slipped his jacket on and made a comment about putting his nice jacket over his sweaty clothes.

Akaashi only shook his head. “I prefer my own shower, thank you. Plus, I wouldn’t enjoy carrying a gym bag for my shower items, another change of clothes, and my work bag. That’s excessive.”

Bokuto only rolled his eyes at that, muttering about Akaashi being high maintenance. Akaashi shot him a heatless glare before bidding him goodbye. He waved to Hinata on his way out of the gym, hurrying to catch his train home.

*

His cell phone buzzed on the coffee table, causing Akaashi to look up from his laptop. He pulled his glasses off, massaging his eyes gently to rub the weariness from them. He needed to stop staring at computer screens for so long; Oikawa was right, it was causing unnecessary eye strain. And if anyone knew about avoiding unnecessary strain, it was Oikawa.

He sat his laptop on the couch next to him, careful to avoid disturbing Miko, who was napping on another cushion. Leaning forward, he picked up his cell phone, finding a snapchat notification from Bokuto.

He rolled his eyes and smiled. Bokuto had talked Akaashi into adding him on the app weeks ago when they started training. Akaashi honestly never used the app except for when Oikawa would send him close-up pictures of his own face during conference calls, and he never replied to them. Bokuto, though, was creative in his snaps. He insisted that he and Akaashi keep a streak, and it was about the usual time that he would send him one.

Akaashi opened it to see a picture of a wild-haired boy sitting on the other side of Bokuto’s couch. Bokuto was peeking up from the corner of the screen, just his ridiculous hair and one of his golden eyes showing. The wild-haired boy was grinning, throwing up a peace sign but looking at his own phone in his lap. Akaashi recognized him from many of Bokuto’s other snapchats. He thought that he remembered his name was Kuroo.

Akaashi clicked on Bokuto’s name to send him a reply, quickly snapping a picture of the snoozing Miko and sending it. He never took a picture of his own face. Bokuto replied immediately, his face taking up Akaashi’s entire screen in a dramatic pout, his eyes watery and wide.

‘AKAAAASSSHHIIII SHES SO CUTEEEEE’ read the caption.

Akaashi laughed softly; Bokuto loved Miko, and Akaashi was pretty sure Bokuto only maintained the streak they had because he wanted to see the cat. Akaashi quickly clicked to reply, recording a short video of him touching Miko’s side so she would make her trilling sound and poke her head up sleepily. He captioned the video ‘she says hi’ and sent it. Then he turned his laptop off, standing and stretching before putting his teacup in the sink and picking his sleepy cat up to head to bed.

When he finally got settled in, he had another snapchat and a text message from Bokuto. The snapchat was just a picture of Bokuto practically in tears, Kuroo in the background with his head thrown back in an open-mouthed laugh.

He opened the text message next.

_[Bokuto] akaashi, what did you have for dinner?_

Akaashi rolled his eyes as he replied.

_[Akaashi] you’re not going to let this go, are you?_

_[Bokuto] i have NO idea what you mean Kaashi! i’m just trying to be a good personal trainer and make sure you ate enough protein to rebuild your muscles_

_[Akaashi] right. if you must know, i had leftover beef stew and rice_

_[Bokuto] you wouldn’t have had to eat leftovers if youd just gone to dinner with me_

_[Akaashi] let it go_

Bokuto simply replied with a frowning emoji. Akaashi laughed to himself, typing another message to Bokuto.

_[Akaashi] is it appropriate for a personal trainer to be asking his clients out to dinner as often as you do?_

_[Bokuto] i only ask you, if it makes you feel any better_

It sort of did. Akaashi chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response. Bokuto beat him to it.

_[Bokuto] kuroo says you should go to dinner with me_

_[Akaashi] no he didn’t_

_[Bokuto] AKAAAASHI are you saying im LYING??!!?!?!_

_[Akaashi] yes_

_[Bokuto] wow_

_[Akaashi] its late bokuto-san. i have work in the morning_

_[Bokuto] okay ): sleep well akaashi_

_[Akaashi] thank you. goodnight_

Akaashi plugged his phone in to charge and rolled over, smashing his face into his pillow. He was disappointed that it didn’t smell like cinnamon and fresh laundry detergent, and then he felt embarrassed for having those thoughts. He sighed, thinking that maybe he should go out to dinner with Bokuto. What harm could it do?

_Stop it. You’re being stupid. He’ll see how weird you are and head for the hills. You’re lucky he hasn’t yet._

Ugh. Akaashi was tired of listening to his own anxieties for the day. They were exhausting. He shoved all thoughts of Bokuto and dinner and feeling disappointed away, eventually drifting off to sleep.

*

That was pretty much how their relationship went. Akaashi trained with Bokuto at the gym on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays; Bokuto had to bartend at the club on the weekends, starting on Friday nights. They had exchanged phone numbers and snapchats, and Bokuto almost always initiated all their conversations outside of training. They kept a silly streak, Akaashi always sending Bokuto pictures and videos of Miko (he didn’t do it just to see Bokuto smile, absolutely not). Bokuto texted him most nights, asking him about the upcoming show or what projects he was working on for work; he asked Akaashi out to dinner at least twice a week, either in person or through text message. Akaashi always declined.

Bokuto would text or snapchat Akaashi on the weekends while he was bartending. He loved to send Akaashi pictures of pretty drinks that he made, or pictures of people falling asleep at the bar. Akaashi would scold Bokuto, telling him to stop taking pictures of people without their consent.

They would chat over text message, Bokuto playing a constant game of twenty (more like three hundred and fifty) questions. Akaashi didn’t mind, though. He would answer the ones that he didn’t feel were too personal, and sometimes he would return with questions of his own. He was amazed at how many questions Bokuto could ask, and he was impressed at how creative and, seemingly, mundane the questions could be. Bokuto acted as if every answer was a vital piece of information, not brushing anything off.

_[Bokuto] akaashi, what is your favorite color?_

_[Bokuto] do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?_

_[Bokuto] cake or ice cream?_

_[Bokuto] if you could be any animal, what would it be?_

_[Bokuto] akaashi, what’s your favorite book?_

_[Bokuto] when did you learn to ride a bike?_

Once, in a rare moment of immaturity, Akaashi complained to Bokuto about being bored and tired of sitting in his apartment alone on the weekends. Bokuto invited him to come to the club, insisting he could just sit at the bar and keep him company. Akaashi was hesitant, but he eventually relented and caught a bus to the club. He figured he had nothing better to do, and it was a bone he could throw to Bokuto as compensation for always turning down his dinner advances.

It became something he would do, not every weekend, but often enough that they developed a pattern. He would sit at the far end of the bar, away from the other patrons, and sip on something non-alcoholic (he was still gun-shy after his last experience). Sometimes he would bring his sketchbook with him, working on future pieces while Bokuto chatted with other customers and helped the waitresses. Other times he would just people watch until Bokuto could make his way back over to him. They would continue their game of twenty questions in person; Akaashi would stay until Bokuto closed the club, and then he would give Akaashi a ride home because the buses and trains didn’t run that late.

Akaashi wasn’t sure if his relationship with Bokuto could be considered inappropriate, especially since he was paying him as a personal trainer, and his anxious thoughts didn’t let him escape the fear that perhaps Bokuto was only spending the time he was with him because of the money. Akaashi would try hard to push those thoughts away, reminding himself that he wasn’t paying Bokuto any more than another client would (only because Bokuto wouldn’t let him), so his thoughts were totally ungrounded.

He confided in Asahi and Oikawa about his fears. Asahi assured him that it was normal and totally fine to become friends with someone who you spent that much time with; Oikawa teased him about having a crush on Bokuto. Akaashi denied Oikawa’s teasing, always furiously blushing and leaving the room in a huff.

He wouldn’t admit it, at least not out loud. In the quiet of his apartment, while waiting for the next buzz or chime signaling a message from Bokuto, he would let himself think about his childish crush. It was hard to not develop one, especially on someone whose biceps were as defined as Bokuto’s, and those biceps were in close vicinity of Akaashi’s person at least three days a week. More importantly, Bokuto was affectionate, kind, inviting, and warm. He always made Akaashi laugh, which wasn’t something he did often. Akaashi steadily began to feel more and more welcomed and comfortable in Bokuto’s presence as time passed.

Oikawa and Asahi even started to notice the change in Akaashi’s moods. Instead of his usual stoic impression, he would smile at his phone during lunch when Bokuto would snapchat him; he even paused in his work sometimes to reply to text messages from the other. Asahi quietly mentioned to Akaashi one day that he was happy he’d finally made a friend outside of work.

That was how they got to know each other. That was how Akaashi came to know Bokuto’s quirks, strengths, and weaknesses. He knew what would make Bokuto delightfully giddy, like showing him new sketches that he hadn’t even shown Asahi yet and sending him pictures of Miko; he knew what made Bokuto frustrated, like when it would rain and his hair would fall flat, or when people at the club would cheat the waitresses out of tips.

He also learned how Bokuto sometimes fell into extreme states of moodiness. He hadn’t seen it much, just once or twice at the club, and it wasn’t terrible. He would just get quiet and seem distant in the conversation. Akaashi had noticed it a few times in their text conversations, when Bokuto wouldn’t type his name in all capital letters, or when Bokuto wouldn’t reply to Akaashi’s snapchats of Miko with outrageous facial expressions.

Akaashi would ask Bokuto what was wrong, offer to talk if the other needed it, and sometimes Bokuto would confide in him. It was usually little things, like feeling extra clumsy that day after tripping multiple times or feeling stupid because he had accidentally slept through his alarm and left Hinata to open the gym without him. Akaashi would comfort Bokuto, assuring him that everyone had off days. Bokuto would usually seem in a better mood by the end of their conversations, which made Akaashi’s chest warm with pride that he had managed to lift Bokuto’s spirit.

He would quickly push those thoughts away, though.

One day, Akaashi arrived at the gym for his usual appointment with Bokuto. He had changed into his workout clothes before leaving work so they could start right away, but when he walked into the building, Hinata immediately ushered him over to the desk.

“Bokuto-san is having a rough day,” he whispered, cupping one hand around his mouth to mask what he was saying to Akaashi. He gestured to Bokuto with his eyes, and Akaashi looked over. Bokuto was leaning against a far wall, one arm crossed over his chest, staring at his phone in the other hand. His posture was stiff, and Akaashi could see his lips pressed into a straight line.

“What happened?” Akaashi whispered back to Hinata, who only shrugged.

“He was fine this morning, but after he came back from his lunch break, he was like this. I don’t know what happened, but I know when he’s like this he can be kind of hard to work with. I just wanted to warn you.” Hinata’s brows were furrowed together, a look of worry etched all over his face. Akaashi gave him a small, reassuring smile and nodded, putting his things in his locker and then heading over to where Bokuto was standing.

If Bokuto was in one of his dejected moods, and Akaashi was almost positive he was, this was the worst one he’d ever seen. Bokuto had given him a small, half-hearted smile when Akaashi had approached him. They began their usual routine, but it lacked the normal chatter that Bokuto provided as Akaashi stretched. This was different from the other situations, when Akaashi was spending time with Bokuto as a friend and, therefore, felt comfortable asking Bokuto what was wrong. This time, though, he was at Bokuto’s job. He knew that he hated discussing difficult personal matters at work, and he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. So, he just kept quiet.

As the time passed, however, Akaashi felt his anxiety rising. Bokuto wasn’t acting like his normal self at all. He was barely speaking, only giving small encouragements or redirections when needed. Akaashi was gnawing a hole through his bottom lip. Was Bokuto mad at him? Had he accidentally done something wrong to upset him? He tried to think through the day. Bokuto had snapchatted him at his usual time, which was when Akaashi usually ate lunch. He’d replied to him, just like he always did. They hadn’t texted much that day, but they usually never did when Akaashi had a training session. They were going to be seeing each other later, and Bokuto usually asked Akaashi all about his day while he worked out. There was no need to text about it.

It was only when he tasted blood from the skin that had been chewed raw on his lip that Akaashi gathered up the courage to ask Bokuto what was wrong. He was in the middle of doing sit ups, Bokuto holding his feet in place and staring off into space. He sat up and, instead of going back down, wrapped his arms around his knees and drew them closer to his chest. He hated being confrontational, even though this wasn’t necessarily a confrontation, and he wanted to feel sheltered and safe. His knees in his chest was the least vulnerable position he could manage at that moment.

“Bokuto-san?” His voice was quiet, and he hoped Bokuto hadn’t noticed the slight tremor at the edges of it, betraying his nervousness. Bokuto snapped his attention back to Akaashi, looking confused. Akaashi swallowed before continuing, “Is everything okay? You’ve been really quiet today.”

Bokuto looked away for a second and sighed, then gave Akaashi a small smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for asking.”

He was definitely lying. He wasn’t a good liar in the first place, and it was even more apparent because his voice was quiet, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Akaashi frowned, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” he asked, feeling vulnerable despite his attempt to protect himself. He was afraid that he’d done something unwittingly, and while he didn’t want Bokuto to be upset with him, hearing someone tell him about something he’d done wrong made his chest and stomach constrict in pain. He’d spend the next couple weeks dwelling on it, letting his anxiety eat him alive, until he could manage to shove it down into a box and lock it away.

Bokuto, however, immediately and vigorously shook his head. He suddenly looked desperate, and his words came out in a rush. “No, no no no no! You didn’t do anything wrong, Akaashi! Please don’t think you did! I promise you didn’t do anything!”

Akaashi felt his muscles relax. Bokuto really was a bad liar, so he knew he could believe him.

“So,” he started, moving his knees from his chest and instead crossing them on the mat, “what’s wrong? You’re clearly upset. Do you want to talk about it?”

It was Bokuto’s turn to pull his knees to his chest and wrap his arms around them. He avoided making eye contact with Akaashi, sighing heavily and blinking rapidly a few times, like he was trying to blink away tears. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems, Akaashi.” His voice was quiet. Akaashi didn’t like hearing it that way. Bokuto was supposed to be loud, larger than life.

He leaned forward a little bit, lowering his head so that he could put himself in Bokuto’s line of vision. Bokuto’s golden eyes were that molten honey color – the color they became when he was swimming with emotion.

“You’re not a burden,” Akaashi said quietly. “If you need to talk, I want to listen. I want to help. That’s what friends do.”

Bokuto perked up at the word “friend,” the corners of his lips curling in a small smile. This one actually reached his eyes, though, and Akaashi felt relieved.

“My mom called me this afternoon,” Bokuto began. He sighed again, lifting his chin from the tops of his knees and scowling slightly at the floor.

“Do you not get along with your mom?” Akaashi asked. He would be surprised if that were the case. Bokuto seemed like the kind of child a parent would dote upon.

“No, actually I get along really well with my mom!” Bokuto replied, laughing a little. “Both of my parents, actually. I have a great relationship with them. It wasn’t the fact that my mom called that upset me, it was what I heard while we were talking.”

Akaashi waited patiently for Bokuto to continue, giving him an inquisitive look.

“See, when I was a kid, I had a really hard time concentrating in school.” Bokuto was back to scowling at the floor. “My parents thought that maybe it was just because I was an only child and wanted to socialize more than learn. They started having me spend a lot of time with my cousins on the weekends. They were around my age and there weren’t many kids in the neighborhood we lived in, so it made sense.

“The only problem was, my aunt and uncle didn’t think I was a good influence on my cousins. I didn’t know anything about it until one day my older cousin told me that his dad had told him I had a learning disability. My uncle had told him it meant I was dumb and to not let me rub off on him. My cousin told me he didn’t want to play with me anymore. My younger cousins still played with me, but it really bothered me and eventually I told my parents I didn’t want to go over there anymore.

“When I told them why, they got really angry and then my family had a big fight. After that, I didn’t see my aunt, uncle, or cousins for pretty much the rest of my childhood. I would sometimes see them on holidays when my whole family was together, but we never really spoke. In middle school, I started playing volleyball and school got a lot easier because I could let my energy out during practice, and then I was able to focus. My parents were super proud of me, and I didn’t feel like I was stupid anymore.

“But today, while I was talking to my mom, I heard my uncle in the background. I knew that she had seen them occasionally since I left home. They had actually made up when I was in high school, and my uncle had even apologized to me for what he’d said. I didn’t really have any hard feelings about it anymore, and neither did my parents.

“But today my uncle asked how I was doing while I was talking to my mom. He was saying that my older cousin had gotten into medical school and wanted to know what I was doing. My mom had told him, and then I heard him say that he thought I had more potential. My mom had immediately gotten upset and defended me, but my uncle just said he wasn’t trying to be mean. He said that I was basically a glorified gym teacher, but then maybe that made sense since I had taken volleyball so seriously in high school.”

Bokuto finished his explanation and scrunched his nose up in irritation. Akaashi was quiet, unsure what the best response would be. He was angry; why would someone say that about their own family? Success wasn’t measured by what profession someone had.

“I have always been really insecure about my attention issues,” Bokuto continued after a moment of silence. “I’ve learned how to manage it, and I take medication to help me, and I really feel like I’ve been doing really well. But what my uncle said today made me feel really low. I feel like I’m back in elementary school, back when kids would make fun of me for getting distracted or teachers would call my parents and say I was being disruptive in class. I really love my jobs. And I’m not some dumb jock who only cares about working out or sports or something. But now I feel like that’s what people think of me, and it’s just been really bothering me all day.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Bokuto snapped his head up, looking at Akaashi with wide eyes. Akaashi stared right back.

“That’s stupid,” he repeated. “Your uncle clearly knows nothing about you. You said yourself that you love your jobs. And you’re right: you’re not some dumb jock. You obviously care about people and like to help them. And I think if you had wanted to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or whatever other ‘superior’ profession, you would have.” Akaashi made finger quotes around the word “superior,” making sure the sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “As long as you feel happy with what you’re doing and where you are in life, then forget what other people have to say about it.”

Bokuto’s eyes were huge. His mouth hung open slightly, and he stared at Akaashi like he’d just grown another head.

“Akaashi…” he mumbled, but the other cut him off.

“Also, don’t feel bad for being different than other people. I understand how it feels to seem so different from other people. I wish my parents had been as understanding as yours.” Akaashi paused, frowning at unpleasant memories.

“My mom and dad treated my anxiety like it was a disease, and they made all my decisions for me. They would talk about me to their fancy friends like I wasn’t standing right there, always talking about how I would never come out of my shell. I never even played with kids my own age unless I was at school, and even then, I was usually too nervous to talk to them because I felt like I was a freak.

“I played volleyball in high school because I needed something to channel all my nervous energy into and I could focus on the ball and the situation in the moment instead of worrying so much about the future. That was really the only thing I ever did that was my own choice until I went to college. My parents were happy that I chose to pursue design, but that was about it. I mean, when I got my apartment, my mom came over and put paintings up that I had no say in. My dad bought all my furniture for me, and he never even asked me what I wanted.

“I understand how it feels to feel different. My parents made me feel like I had all these flaws, and I believed them, and still sort of do. They’ve always taken care of me, but they never really saw me the way it sounds like your parents do. So, don’t feel bad about being different. I don’t think your attention span or excitability make you any less or weird or anything. I actually think it makes you more approachable, and I know it makes it a lot easier for someone like me to feel comfortable around you. Like right now. I don’t think I’ve ever said these many words at one time in my entire life. But it’s really easy to talk to you.”

Bokuto looked like he was about to cry. He threw his arms around Akaashi’s neck, at which Akaashi let out a small yelp of surprise.

“Akaaashiiiii!” Bokuto cried. He pulled away to look at Akaashi’s face, his hands still on his shoulders. “Thank you so much for telling me all that! And please don’t think that you have flaws! Because I think you’re the most flawless person I’ve ever met!”

The sincerity in Bokuto’s voice made Akaashi blush. He really believed Bokuto’s words, and for once his anxious thoughts were quiet.

“I think you’re flawless too, Bokuto-san.”


	7. Warm Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was a BEAR. And after I finished it, I had to rework the rest of the story because it went in a different direction than I had originally planned, but I like where it's going more now. Enjoy!

Oikawa threw his head back and laughed loudly, gripping at his stomach. Asahi chuckled softly, shaking his head. Akaashi was blushing furiously, hiding his face in his hands.

They were eating lunch, and Akaashi had been a jittery mess all morning. Oikawa had finally bugged him enough to explain his nerves, and Akaashi had given a rushed and embarrassed explanation of his conversation with Bokuto during their last session.

“Aka-kun!” Oikawa was gasping for air between his cackles, wiping at tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Aka-kun, I didn’t know you could talk that much! I’ve known you for three years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that many words! This bartender must be someone special!”

Akaashi leaned back in his chair, groaning in embarrassment. “I don’t know why I did that!” he whined, running his hands through his hair. “Sometimes I get really nervous and then I just compulsively overshare! He probably thinks I’m crazy! And I like, made the whole thing about me! He was upset and I talked about myself! I’m such an idiot!”

“It sounds to me like you helped him feel better,” Asahi said sweetly, trying desperately to calm Akaashi down.

“It sounds to me like this man really brings something out of you,” Oikawa added, his one eyebrow slowly rising to give Akaashi a suggestive look.

Akaashi sighed, massaging his temples and trying to force his blush away. He’d spent the entire weekend overthinking his conversation with Bokuto. By the time he’d made it home that night, he had almost been in tears over his actions. He had only compulsively overshared like that a handful of times prior, and he had been drunk. This time, he didn’t have any excuse or crutch for his impulsivity; something about Bokuto just made Akaashi want to talk.

He had felt better getting all that baggage out of him; he’d never really opened up to someone about his parents or the way he’d grown up. He kept walls up to prevent that from happening because it made him feel too vulnerable. Akaashi felt foolish for allowing himself to act the way he had; Asahi was right, the conversation had lifted Bokuto’s spirits, and he had ended the night his usual, cheerful, loud self. Akaashi was glad that he’d made him feel better, but it came at the expense of drowning in his own thoughts for the rest of the weekend.

“I don’t think I can ever face him again,” Akaashi mumbled, shaking his head.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Oikawa said, slapping Akaashi on the shoulder. “You let him in. There’s no going back now.”

Akaashi laid face down on the table, and Asahi patted his head comfortingly.

*

By Friday night, Akaashi had managed to make it through the week without making a fool of himself in front of Bokuto again. It had been his last week of training with him, and Bokuto had made a point to remind Akaashi how proud he was of him and all his progress. Akaashi couldn’t help but admit that he felt stronger; his arms were noticeably more defined now, and he had considerably more stamina. It reminded him of his volleyball days, which brought back many fond memories.

Akaashi felt slightly sad that his scheduled time with Bokuto was over. It occurred to him that he would have to find excuses to hang out with him now. Sure, he would continue to go to the gym and workout, it was routine now, but Bokuto would have other clients he was working with during that time. Akaashi could always go to the club on the weekends, but he was getting tired of only seeing Bokuto when the other was working. Were they really friends if they only hung out at work? Even Oikawa and Asahi were a part of Akaashi’s life outside of work – not often, but it happened.

_There you go, assuming he wants to be friends with you. You’re not paying him anymore, so he doesn’t really have any use for you now._

Akaashi sighed and fell back on his couch. He’d brought work home with him, but he didn’t feel like doing it. He didn’t feel like doing anything but laying around and drinking tea and cuddling with his cat.

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep on the couch and sleep through the night. Akaashi awoke to Miko sleeping on his chest, sunlight pouring in through his living room windows, and his phone buzzing on the coffee table next to him.

It was his phone that had roused him, really. He reached over blindly, fumbling around until he found his phone and brought it to his face. He clicked the green icon, not bothering to look at the caller ID, and pressed it to his ear, greeting the person calling him with his voice still full of sleep.

“Akaashi! Did I wake you up?”

Akaashi jumped, pulling the phone away from his ear for a second. “Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn. “You sort of woke me, but that’s okay. You’re up early for a Saturday.”

“Sorry! I wanted to talk to you before you made any plans for the day!” Akaashi heard a clatter in the background, as if Bokuto had dropped something.

“I don’t have any, anyway,” Akaashi replied. “Did you have something in mind?” He was hopeful.

“Um,” Bokuto began, sounding shy suddenly, “I do, actually. You know my friend, Kuroo?”

“You’ve mentioned him.”

“Right. Well, he’s like, a really talented scientist, and last year he helped make new vaccines or something with his professor in graduate school. Anyway, he got an award for it, and tonight is the award dinner and stuff. He gave me invitations to it, and I really want to go, since he’s my best friend,” Bokuto explained, still sounding like he was shuffling around his apartment. “I have two invitations, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

“Is this your way of asking me out to dinner again?” Akaashi asked, smiling to himself.

Bokuto sputtered. “I mean… Well, yeah, but like, it’s for something else! Plus, we won’t be the only ones there! Kuroo will be there, and his fiancé will be there, too! It’s not like, a date or anything!”

“Oh, it’s not?” Akaashi wasn’t sure why he felt so confident suddenly. Perhaps it was because Bokuto was actually suggesting they spend time together outside of training regimens and workplaces. Maybe it was because Bokuto’s question came with a double meaning: He wanted Akaashi to meet his friends. That meant something, right?

“I mean… it could be, if that’s what you wanted,” Bokuto replied quietly.

It was Akaashi’s turn to sputter. He wasn’t expecting that response. He took a moment to compose himself before he responded. “Bokuto-san, I would love to go with you tonight. And if you want to call it a date, feel free to do so.”

His answer was safe, he thought. He did want to go, but he didn’t want Bokuto to feel pressured like it was a serious date. But he also didn’t want Bokuto to feel rejected because it wasn’t a serious date.

Bokuto didn’t seem to think too heavily about it, however. “Yes! It’ll be great! It starts at seven, so I’ll pick you up around like, six. It’s a little bit of a drive, plus Kuroo said it’s fancy and has like a cocktail hour before dinner. I guess it’s probably pretty formal. I should have asked if you were okay with that kind of stuff? Also, what are you going to wear? I don’t want us to look ridiculous next to each other because we wear totally different colors or something.”

Akaashi chuckled. Bokuto was really concerned about them matching?

“Yes, I’m fine with those kinds of things. I’m not sure what I’ll wear, Bokuto-san. I’ll have to look through my things. Why don’t you send me a picture of what you’re wearing, and I’ll plan accordingly?” He rose from the couch, wandering down to his bedroom to skim through his closet.

“Okay, yeah! I’ll do that! You probably have more fancy clothes than I do, anyway!” Bokuto replied.

“Then I’ll see you tonight,” Akaashi said, smiling.

“See you tonight!”

*

The outfit debate ended up with them on a video call to decide.

“What about this one, Akaashi?”

“You can’t wear that if you want to wear those pants, Bokuto-san.”

“Says who?”

“Says the basic, cardinal rules of fashion.”

“How do you know?”

“I literally design clothes for a living.”

“Oh yeah… Oh! I could wear this with those pants!”

“You’ll look washed out.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Your hair is white, Bokuto-san. You’ll look like a ghost.”

“What about this?”

“Ew. Why do you even own that?”

“It makes me stand out! I want to wear this one!”

“Bokuto-san, I will not come if you wear that.”

“Fine…”

They finally settled on Bokuto wearing a white button-down without a tie under a navy blazer jacket with gray slacks. Akaashi decided to wear navy as well, but he chose his favorite navy slacks with a white button-down under a navy formal dress vest. Bokuto was immensely amused that Akaashi owned a dress vest.

When Bokuto arrived to pick him up, he looked dumbfounded as Akaashi approached the car.

“Akaashi,” he breathed as the other climbed in.

Akaashi blushed deeply, looking out the window to avoid Bokuto’s gaze. “Quit staring at me like that,” he mumbled. “I told you what I was wearing.”

“Yeah, but it looks so much better on you than just on the hanger!” Bokuto exclaimed.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. You look really good, too,” Akaashi replied, still blushing furiously. “Now let’s go before we’re late.”

The venue for the event was one that Akaashi had been to before. It was a well-known, upscale restaurant that had hosted many notable persons from around the world; Akaashi had spent time conversing with agents and other big-name models over pricey champagne and various dishes. Oikawa had always enjoyed the luxury of the whole experience but would reassure Asahi and Akaashi that he preferred the low-key feel of their company.

Akaashi had also enjoyed the events, mostly because of the networking opportunities, but still looked forward to going home to his cat and his apartment. The events reminded him of the ones he’d gone to with his parents as a child, and the people were no different than the ones he had encountered back then: often pompous and self-righteous. Sure, he’d met some genuine characters, ones that reminded him of Asahi, but people like Asahi were a dime a dozen, and Akaashi wasn’t a particularly lucky person.

Those events, however, had been a crowd of people used to luxury, waitstaff, and constant maintenance. This time, Akaashi was going into a crowd of people he had never interacted with. He figured that the scientists, doctors, and students that he was about to meet were well-known in their respective fields; otherwise, they would not be able to host this event at such a prestigious location. Despite this, however, Bokuto had explained to him that it was a regional ceremony. It wasn’t like these people were receiving Nobel Peace prizes, though Akaashi was sure some would go on to do just that.

As he and Bokuto entered the restaurant, Bokuto’s car being parked by valet, Akaashi wondered just what kind of person Kuroo was. He had seen pictures of him through snapchat, and Bokuto spoke of him often. Akaashi knew that the pair had been best friends since high school, and from Bokuto’s stories, it sounded like they were good at getting into trouble together, but he knew nothing else about the other man. If he had managed to earn an award for his work in his field (graduate student or not), he must be an incredibly intelligent person. Akaashi didn’t think Bokuto wasn’t intelligent, but he hadn’t expected him to have a best friend that won regional scientific awards and had them presented to him at five-star restaurants.

The pair presented their invitations to the hostess, who guided them to their table. Akaashi took a moment to observe his surroundings; the dining area was large, with a high ceiling and glistening chandeliers. He remembered Oikawa aweing at them their first time there. The tables were set with crisp, white tablecloths and perfectly placed fine china. The waitstaff, dressed in expertly pressed black shirts and slacks, were floating from table to table, offering the guests who had already arrived the assortment of wines, champagne, and whatever hors d’oeuvres that were available.

Bokuto was aweing at the chandeliers just as Oikawa had done, and Akaashi couldn’t help but smile softly at the other man. He looked so innocently fascinated and impressed; Akaashi wished he hadn’t lost that level of appreciation for beauty.

Bokuto might be bringing that appreciation back, though. He thought those words carefully, keeping his heart guarded and his anxious tendencies at bay as best he could.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Akaashi and Bokuto’s attentions were both drawn to the voice approaching them. It was deep and smooth; Akaashi thought it almost sounded scheming. The source of the voice was a tall, lanky man with a wild mop of black hair. Akaashi immediately recognized him from the snapchats. He was dressed in all black, a neat, deep red bowtie tucked under the collar of his button-down, his suit jacket shiny and sleek.

_Satin,_ Akaashi thought. A good choice for someone of his personality, he assumed. Smooth, sleek, high maintenance.

Next to Kuroo stood a significantly smaller boy. He looked strikingly bored; his hair, dyed blonde on the ends, black roots growing in, was tied back into a low, smooth bun that sat at the back of his neck. Akaashi briefly thought that he looked vaguely familiar.

His outfit was almost identical to Kuroo’s, but the colors were inverted. They shared the black button-down, but this boy wore no bowtie, and his suit jacket and pants were the same deep red as Kuroo’s bowtie. Akaashi would have put money down that the bowtie came with his suit, but Kuroo had decided to wear it instead.

Kuroo was looking at the two of them with a wide grin spread across his face. Bokuto returned it. “Look who’s talking, you nasty alley cat,” he said, then moved to hug the other.

Kuroo slapped Bokuto on the shoulder after their embrace. “Wow, Bo, you clean up nice!” he said, his voice dripping with humor. “I didn’t know you owned anything besides basketball shorts and old volleyball t-shirts.”

Bokuto laughed loudly. “Eh, I wouldn’t have shown up looking this nice if I hadn’t had Akaashi’s help! Speaking of…” He then turned to Akaashi, who was standing awkwardly next to their table, fiddling with his fingers. “Kuroo, meet Akaashi. Akaashi, meet Kuroo.” Bokuto waved his hand between them as he spoke.

Akaashi moved to bow politely to Kuroo, but the other man moved before he could. He threw an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders (a much more intimate gesture than Akaashi was accustomed to when first meeting someone) and gave him a small shake.

“Don’t bother with formalities,” Kuroo said, still grinning widely. “I feel like I know you; Bokuto doesn’t shut up about you! It’s nice to finally meet and see the face behind the cute cat pictures.”

Both Akaashi and Bokuto blushed, causing Kuroo to laugh and then rejoin the small boy, who seemed to be waiting patiently for Kuroo and Bokuto to complete their reunion ritual.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo said to Akaashi, his arm snaking around the smaller’s waist, tugging him closer. “He’s my fiancé.” Kenma only nodded at Akaashi.

While he wasn’t totally surprised, Akaashi hadn’t realized that when Bokuto had said they would be sitting with Kuroo and his fiancé, he’d meant Kuroo’s male fiancé. He had just assumed Kuroo was straight, mostly based on his looks. That realization embarrassed Akaashi, and he felt his cheeks color slightly. He looked down awkwardly, hoping to hide his blush.

“Can we just sit down?” Kenma asked softly, his voice mostly apathetic. Akaashi silently thanked him for drawing the other two’s attention away from this awkward meeting.

They sat, Bokuto snickering over Kuroo’s bowtie, which only caused Kuroo to smack the other on the back of the head. A waiter approached their table and took their drink orders, Kuroo assuring Bokuto that he’d ordered the best wine, but Bokuto claiming he knew better; he was a bartender after all. A few people approached the table, addressing Kuroo and shaking his hand, and Kuroo would introduce the others at the table before having a brief conversation about his work or his professor or whatever other technical questions the others would have for him. In between their visitors, Kuroo and Bokuto would bicker about what was the best meal on the menu or which hors d’oeuvres were better.

The time passed like this, Akaashi and Kenma mostly remaining silent, until dinner started. As the rest of the guests settled down, the room became less social and each table seemed content to keep conversation between themselves. Kuroo zeroed in on Akaashi almost immediately.

“So, Akaashi,” he started, setting his utensils down and leaning toward the other slightly, “Bo says you design clothes?”

Akaashi nodded. He was shocked Bokuto talked so much about him to his friend, but then again, Akaashi spent a lot of time talking about Bokuto to his coworkers.

“Do you work for like, any specific brand?” Kuroo asked. He seemed genuinely interested, Akaashi noted, which helped settle his nerves a bit.

“I work for Azumane Asahi,” he said. “The brand is still pretty small, but we’ve been able to showcase some pieces in shows recently. I mostly design and craft the pieces, but recently I’ve also been doing some networking for the brand. It helps that we have a relatively well-known model on our team now.”

Kuroo didn’t make any faces of recognition at Asahi’s name, but Kenma tilted his head slightly at it.

“I’ve heard that name,” he said, his voice still soft and even. “The model who works with that brand is Oikawa Tooru, right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi confirmed. It excited him slightly that someone knew the brand outside of their circles.

Kenma laughed softly, looking back down at his plate. “I thought so. I knew Oikawa in college. We’re still friends on social media. He follows my YouTube page.”

Akaashi suddenly realized why Kenma looked so familiar. “You stream games on YouTube,” he blurted, more so voicing his thoughts than actually looking for an answer. Kenma simply nodded, looking back at him.

Smiling slightly, Akaashi sat his hands in his lap, his nervous fidgeting falling away. “Oikawa watches your videos on his phone during conference calls. I always have to kick him in the shin so he actually pays attention,” he said, chuckling.

Kenma laughed in return, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I’ll have to mention in my next video that he should worry more about his job than my videos.”

Akaashi and Kenma shared a genuine laugh, at which Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged awed glances.

“I told you they’d get along,” Bokuto whispered to Kuroo, the two of them snickering between themselves.

*

The awards were given shortly after dinner concluded. Kuroo accepted his with the amount of charm that Akaashi had come to expect from him in their short time knowing each other, and he listened with interest in Kuroo’s brief explanation of the work he and his professor had done. Despite first impressions, Akaashi figured out that Kuroo was a humble, intelligent, and genuinely compassionate person. His project had been done with an intention of taking the first steps to help large groups of people around the world, which Akaashi thought was incredibly honorable. He noted how proud both Bokuto and Kenma looked of Kuroo. He hoped that someday he could know Kuroo the way they did, surprising himself with that level of sentiment. He also hoped that someday he’d sit in a similar position as Kenma and Bokuto, but instead of Kuroo being the one on a stage, it would be Asahi, finally getting the recognition he deserved.

After the ceremony had concluded, Kuroo and Bokuto disappeared from their table, likely going off to cause some kind of mischief. Kenma had pulled out his phone at this point, playing some game on it while people around them socialized. Akaashi was content to sit in Kenma’s company but not talk. He had to admit that Bokuto was right about them getting along. Kenma carried a similar air about him as Akaashi: slightly nervous and ready to go home at any given point. The silence that fell between them was comfortable, Akaashi even pulling out his own phone and, in a rare gesture of affection, sending Oikawa a snapchat of the chandeliers that he loved so much.

Oikawa replied immediately, his caption gushing about their beauty and how much he loved that restaurant. Akaashi opened his messaging app to send Oikawa a text, telling him that he’d never guess who he was sitting next to, and then informing him it was Kenma. Oikawa didn’t believe him, so Akaashi asked Kenma if he could send a picture of them to his coworker. Kenma agreed, which Akaashi was honestly surprised about (he was also surprised he even had the nerve to ask but that was a topic for another time). Oikawa then spammed Akaashi with all-capital letter messages about how he missed Kenma and to say hi for him.

After a few moments of silence, Kenma sat his phone down on the table and turned to Akaashi.

“So, what do you think of Koutarou?” he asked.

Akaashi was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. Kenma’s voice had no hidden meaning that he could detect, nor was his tone teasing in any way. He paused for a moment, considering how to answer. Even though the question didn’t seem double edged, it was unprecedented.

“I wasn’t expecting to become friends with him, but I’m glad I did,” Akaashi finally answered.

Kenma seemed to consider this answer carefully, his eyes not giving anything away but making Akaashi feel like he was being analyzed regardless.

“He has that kind of magnetic pull,” Kenma said eventually. He turned back to his phone, quickly tapping out a reply to a message. “You don’t really intend to like him, but then you do, and there’s no going back.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Akaashi asked.

Kenma shrugged. “I’ve known Kou for as long as Kuro has known him. I played volleyball in high school with Kuro, and I met Kou at a training camp. Most of the time he was too much for me to handle, but he was always kind to me. He’s still a bit too much for me to handle sometimes, but I enjoy his presence. It’s hard to not like him.”

Akaashi nodded. It was hard to not like Bokuto. He hadn’t disliked him when they had first met (quite the contrary), but once he began spending time with him, Akaashi found new things to like every day. Sure, he was a little obnoxious sometimes, and there were times where Akaashi questioned Bokuto’s logic in certain situations, but the positives by far outweighed the negatives.

“Kuro was his only friend all through high school, you know,” Kenma said, pulling Akaashi back to the conversation.

That surprised Akaashi. “Really?” he asked.

Kenma nodded, resting his chin in his hand. “Sure, he had his teammates and stuff, but it was pretty clear that he annoyed some of them. Koutarou is…” he paused, searching for the right word, “...eccentric. Not everyone wants to take the time to get to know all the aspects that make up who he is. I think he scares some people away because he’s so selfless that it almost feels like you’re taking advantage of him.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened. Somehow, Kenma had managed to put into words what Akaashi had always felt about his relationship with Bokuto.

“But that’s just how he is,” Kenma continued, giving no attention to Akaashi’s reaction. “He doesn’t ever feel like people owe him anything. I think that’s why I like being around him even though he’s a little too loud; I know I can trust him.”

Kenma shifted his eyes to look directly at Akaashi. It made the other still in his seat, again feeling like he was being analyzed. “Kuro wasn’t kidding when he said Kou talks about you all the time,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the one who told Kuro to give Kou the extra invitation. I was hoping he’d bring you tonight. I know Kuro wanted to meet you, and I did too. We’re glad that he has someone like you in his life. You really ground him. So, whatever doubts you have about yourself and your relationship with Koutarou, forget them.”

Akaashi didn’t know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, flailing around in his brain for some coherent response. Before he could muster one, however, Bokuto and Kuroo returned to the table toting copious amounts of dessert. They babbled about how it all looked too good to pass up, and Bokuto told Akaashi that he wasn’t sure what kind of dessert he’d like so he got him one of everything. Akaashi tried to hide his blush, and he swore that he felt Kenma’s eyes on him multiple times for the rest of the night.

“Bokuto-san, I don’t need escorted to my apartment,” Akaashi said as they entered the front entrance of his building. Bokuto trailed behind him as they walked over to the elevators, Akaashi pressing the call button.

“I know, but we agreed this was a date. What kind of date would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door?” Bokuto replied, grinning and rocking back on his heels.

Akaashi shook his head softly. “I don’t think we agreed on this being a date. We just agreed that we could call it whatever we wanted to.”

“So,” Bokuto began as they stepped into the elevator, “did you end up calling it a date?”

Akaashi stared straight ahead at the buttons in front of him, keenly aware of Bokuto peering at him. He tried with all his might to keep his lips in a straight line, but he couldn’t control the smile the pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Akaaasshiiii!” Bokuto whined, getting impatient.

“I didn’t call it a date, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi finally replied, noting how Bokuto’s face fell as he stepped out of the elevator and onto his floor. He looked over his shoulder slightly. “But only because first dates typically don’t involve another couple. That’s reserved for later dates.”

Bokuto perked up immediately, bounding out of the elevator after Akaashi. “Does that mean you want to go on later dates?”

Akaashi only smiled as he walked toward his door. He paused as he unlocked it, feeling Bokuto lingering behind him. Then he turned to him.

“Would you like to meet Miko?” he asked.

Bokuto’s eyes were so bright Akaashi thought they might damage his own if he continued looking at them for too long.

“Yes! Yes!” he yelled, bouncing happily.

Akaashi shushed him softly, laughing, and opened his apartment door. Miko immediately leapt from the couch in the living room and trotted over to the door, mewing softly, the bell on her collar tinkling. Akaashi knelt and scooped her up, cuddling her close to his chest. Bokuto looked like he might start crying.

“You can hold her if you want,” Akaashi said, shutting the door behind Bokuto. “She likes to cuddle.”

Bokuto nodded furiously, holding out his arms. Akaashi transferred his cat over to him, and Bokuto cradled her like she was a newborn baby. Miko was purring, and she nudged her nose against Bokuto’s chin as she kneaded softly into his forearm.

“Oh my…” Bokuto breathed, his voice softer than Akaashi thought it could get. “Akaashi, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Akaashi laughed, walking further into his apartment and ushering Bokuto in after him. He hung his coat in a closet, offering to take Bokuto’s, who declined because he didn’t want to put the cat down, then slipped off his shoes. Bokuto did the same, padding softly into the living room after Akaashi. Gesturing to the couch, Akaashi invited Bokuto to sit and went into the kitchen to make tea.

Bokuto continued to cuddle Miko, who had settled happily in his lap, taking in the expanse of Akaashi’s apartment while listening to the other in the kitchen.

Akaashi’s apartment was considerably bigger than Bokuto’s, with prestigious-looking paintings hung on the walls and posh furniture filling up the space. Bokuto could see Akaashi in the kitchen through a cut-out in the wall, and he watched him for a moment before turning his attention back to Miko.

Akaashi joined Bokuto on the couch with tea, scratching his cat on the head as he sat.

“Your apartment is really fancy, Kaashi,” Bokuto said, taking his tea gratefully.

Akaashi shrugged as he took a sip of his own drink. “It’s nice, but I didn’t really have a say in how it looks, so it doesn’t really feel like mine.”

“What would you add or take away if you could?” This was one of Bokuto’s special questions, a part of his three million questions game.

Akaashi thought about it for a moment, sipping his tea quietly. “Well, first, I would get a couch that was actually comfortable,” he finally said. “I mean, this thing is not meant to be sat on. It’s like a rock.”

Akaashi then bounced slightly on it, pushing down on one of the cushions to prove how firm it was. Bokuto laughed.

“And I would get rid of these stupid paintings,” he added, gesturing to the few in sight. “My mom put them up, but they don’t mean anything to me. I would rather put up pictures of city skylines, like New York or London. And I would put up pictures that showcased the designs I’ve done, especially the ones that have been modeled in shows.”

Then he turned and eyed the long, white curtains that hung over the tall windows in his living room. “And I would buy new curtains. Some crazy color like…like bright blue. This place is too white. It always feels so big and cold and empty.” Akaashi took another sip of his tea, suddenly feeling irritated.

Bokuto, however, was smiling softly.

“So, then let’s go buy all those things tomorrow,” he said.

Akaashi looked up at him, blinking slowly. “What?”

“You pay for this place, right?” Bokuto said, setting his tea down and petting Miko softly. “It’s yours, so you should make it yours. If you want neon yellow curtains and zebra print carpet, you should get those things.”

Akaashi couldn’t help but laugh. It was a genuine, open-mouthed laugh, one where he tossed his head back slightly. The image Bokuto’s words had conjured in his head was so ridiculous, and he knew it would make his parents furious, which almost made him want to do it.

“Bokuto, that’s ridiculous,” he said between giggles. “I would never want neon curtains or zebra carpet. But I definitely don’t want white curtains anymore. You’re right, I should make it what I want. It’s mine, after all.”

Bokuto didn’t reply right away, which made Akaashi suddenly nervous. Had he said something wrong? Did Bokuto think he was laughing at him? But when he looked at the other to see what caused him to hesitate, Bokuto was only grinning.

“What?” Akaashi asked dumbly, feeling self-conscious.

“You didn’t use ‘-san,’” Bokuto said.

Akaashi blinked.

Oh.

No, he hadn’t.

Akaashi smiled shyly, hiding his quickly reddening cheeks behind his cup.

Shortly after, Bokuto stood, stretching and yawning, saying he should be getting home. Akaashi walked with him to the door of his apartment, standing in the threshold while Bokuto slipped his shoes on and exited the apartment.

“Thank you for tonight,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto smiled, his eyes molten. “I’m glad you came, Akaashi,” he said.

His voice dripped with sincerity. Akaashi felt his stomach flip-flop. He didn’t want Bokuto to go just yet. He knew that if he let Bokuto walk away, there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to find a reason to see him again. It wasn’t until he had subconsciously dropped the honorific on Bokuto’s name that he had admitted to himself what he wanted.

His mind took him back to his conversation with Kenma.

_“So, whatever doubts you have about yourself and your relationship with Koutarou, forget them.”_

That’s what Kenma had said. Could Akaashi really do something like that? Could he just forget all his insecurities and anxieties, push them away and let himself pursue something he wanted for once in his life?

Bokuto was on the cusp of leaving, and Akaashi was on the cusp of an internal meltdown over his feelings. Kenma’s words were so simple and direct, and their bluntness gave Akaashi the courage he needed to take a step toward Bokuto and brush his lips against the other’s.

It was subtle, gentle, barely there. Only a brush of warm breath, really. Akaashi didn’t want to look at Bokuto, whose body had gone statue-still. His mind was racing against what he had just done, three hundred different situations playing out in rapid fire. A moment passed, two, and Akaashi finally mustered the courage to glance up at Bokuto.

Bokuto’s eyes were wide and round. If Akaashi hadn’t been about to have a full-blown panic attack, he might have teased him about looking so much like an owl. His cheeks were deep crimson, his blush reaching even to the tips of his ears, and his mouth was open slightly.

It took all of two and a half seconds for Akaashi’s mind to converge upon him in a shower of self-deprecating thoughts.

_You idiot!_

_Look what you did, dummy._

_You really thought the conversation about tonight being a date was serious?_

_You look like a total ass right now._

_Way to misread a situation!_

_It’s all over now. Good job._

“Oh my God…” Akaashi choked out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “Bokuto, I am so sorry!” His words were muffled against his hand.

Akaashi turned on his heel and retreated into his apartment. His heart was pounding in his ears and tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Before he slammed his door shut and locked it, Akaashi thought he heard Bokuto whisper his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto's love for Miko is a direct reflection of my love for any cat ever.


	8. Hot Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad because you were all so excited after the last chapter, and this chapter is not nice... I'm sorry, but it gets better, I promise!!!!  
> Also, just a disclaimer, I have absolutely no idea how fashion shows or the industry works, so all of this is based on minuscule research and movies.

Akaashi tried his best to ignore the looks Oikawa and Asahi gave him when he walked into work on Monday. It had taken every ounce of strength in him to drag himself into the shower that morning, meaning he was just letting his hair air-dry, the ends curling wildly around his ears and the frame of his face. He had barely had the brainpower to put on a decent outfit, instead just settling for a sweater he found crumpled at the bottom of his closet and a pair of black jeans.

Oikawa and Asahi knew he almost never wore jeans to work – he always insisted that it was unprofessional, even though they had no set dress code. He knew they would take notice right away, and he prayed that Oikawa didn’t descend upon him with questions. He wasn’t sure he could even make it through the day.

He made it to his office and flopped into his chair, staring blankly at his planner and his coffee. What did he even have to do today?

There was a soft knock at the door, and Akaashi looked up to see Asahi standing in the frame, worry etched across his features.

“Hey,” he said softly, “are you feeling alright? You look…sick?”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but it was clear Asahi couldn’t find the right words to describe Akaashi’s appearance. Akaashi hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror before he left his apartment, knowing that if he looked any bit how he felt, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“I’m okay,” he replied quietly, clearing his throat of the hoarseness that had developed from not speaking in over twenty-four hours. “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t slept well for the rest of the weekend. Instead, he had sat in his bed, curled under the covers, trying to block out the anxious thoughts that flooded his brain and oversaturated him in panic. He had spent the entirety of Sunday dwelling on his last encounter with Bokuto, berating himself for acting without thinking and ignoring the texts and phone calls from Bokuto.

Asahi frowned, not convinced. “Well, if you need to take a day off, don’t hesitate.”

“I’m okay,” Akaashi repeated, finally flipping open his planner to look at his list for the day.

Still frowning, Asahi walked away, exchanging a worried look with Oikawa on his way out.

The week passed slowly, and Akaashi didn’t improve at all. In fact, he was getting worse. It was all he could do to just shower and show up to work. When he was there, he dropped things constantly: his coffee mug, stacks of papers, designs; he forgot about meetings and phone calls, completely ignoring his planner or forgetting to write things down when he did use it. He stabbed himself with pins while working on pieces with Asahi, cursing under his breath constantly, and by Friday his fingers were wrapped in multiple bandages.

Asahi and Oikawa noticed that Akaashi barely ate at lunch (if he remembered to even bring a lunch with him). They had both approached him about his condition, but Akaashi had only insisted that he was stressed because of the upcoming show. Both were unconvinced – it wasn’t like this was Akaashi’s first show.

At the end of each day, Akaashi would return from work, feed Miko, and then immediately crawl into bed. He would stay there until his body forced him to go find something to eat; even then, he would eat nothing more than a piece of bread or a handful of some random snack he found in a cupboard. By the weekend, Akaashi had no energy to even suffer by his own thoughts. He simply fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He awoke to some text messages from Bokuto. He texted him at least once a day, mostly just begging Akaashi to call him. Akaashi scrolled through the messages, his chest aching as he read the most recent message.

_[Bokuto] hey…its been a whole week and i know youre busy but… can you please tell me youre ok? you havent replied at all, and thats totally fine because you need space but please just tell me youre ok. im worried about you_

He should reply. He even lifted his thumbs to the screen, racking his brain for a response. It wasn’t fair to ignore Bokuto like this; he hadn’t done anything wrong. It was Akaashi who had messed up. And now he was sitting around, ignoring Bokuto and making him worry.

_You’re such a terrible person. You threw yourself on him and now you’re ignoring him. Why even bother replying at this point? He’s just taking pity on you._

Akaashi curled in on himself, pulling the blankets over his head. He was tired of listening to his own thoughts, but he felt like they were right. He felt terrible for letting himself behave this way, but he felt like he had no control over himself anymore.

He felt even worse for ignoring Bokuto. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to call Bokuto and beg him to come over. He wanted to beg Bokuto to forgive him for what he’d done, beg him to not walk away from their friendship. A part of his brain, some logical part, told him that Bokuto wasn’t mad at him. Bokuto had said it multiple times in texts and voicemails; he had simply asked Akaashi to talk to him. The rational side of Akaashi assured him that he wasn’t losing the one person in his life that made him feel normal; the anxious, emotionally driven side of him insisted that he was a terrible person for what he had done. That side of him was much louder.

He stared at the messages for a moment longer before shutting his phone off and going back to sleep.

*

The day of the show, Akaashi felt like he could combust at any moment. He had woken up irritated, slamming drawers and huffing about his apartment as he readied himself. This feeling wasn’t new to him; at some point during his prolonged episodes, his anxiety would become overwhelming enough that it would present itself as anger. He would find himself irrationally irritated at everything and everyone around him, including himself.

He just wished that it hadn’t been the day of the show for that side of him to come out. He tried his best to push it aside, sipping angrily at his coffee as Oikawa chattered on their way to the venue. He glowered out the window at passersby, directing his irritation at his faint reflection and strangers so Oikawa wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Besides, the model hadn’t done anything wrong. It wouldn’t be fair to dampen his excitement with Akaashi’s own bad attitude.

The lead up to the show was mostly uneventful. Oikawa managed to stick to schedule relatively well, which surprised Akaashi, as he was accustomed to tracking the sociable man down and strapping him to a chair so he could get ready. Akaashi briefly wondered if Oikawa had decided not to push any boundaries today because of Akaashi’s recent behavior.

When Akaashi went to do his final inventory of the pieces that were being shown, he found that they had already been inventoried and catalogued for the show. He went to find Asahi, who was off in a corner chatting with Oikawa under his breath. They stopped talking when Akaashi approached them.

“The pieces were already inventoried and catalogued.” It wasn’t a question, but it was an inquiry. Akaashi noted the tinge of irritation in his voice, and it seemed that Asahi registered it too.

“Yes,” Asahi replied carefully. “I went ahead and did it, since I had extra time and you were busy at the moment.”

“That’s my job,” Akaashi said, pressing his lips into a flat line. Why was this so irritating?

Asahi sighed, exchanging a glance with Oikawa, who simply shuffled uncomfortably on his feet before Asahi ushered him away. Then, Asahi turned to face Akaashi fully.

“I know it’s your job—”

“Do you think I can’t do it or something?” Akaashi interrupted. There was no hiding his frustration now. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin, and angry tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…_

An exasperated noise came from Asahi’s throat, and he rubbed a hand over his face before he responded.

“Akaashi.” His voice was low and serious. It caused Akaashi to still. “I know things have been difficult for you right now,” Asahi continued. “I was just trying to do something for you to help relieve some of the stress.”

This should have soothed Akaashi, and any other time it would have. He knew that, but it didn’t stop him from bristling at the words.

“My personal life has nothing to do with my job. So, please just let me do it instead of constantly reminding me how shitty I’ve been lately. Okay? Thanks.” Akaashi turned on his heel, stalking away from Asahi and heading to his seat. He didn’t want to think about what he had just said to his boss of all people, so he tried his best to shut his mind off for the duration of the show.

The trip back from the show was quiet. Even Oikawa wasn’t his chatty self. They returned pieces and materials, but before Akaashi could find an escape and go home to hide in his bed, Oikawa and Asahi blocked the way.

“We’re going to talk,” Asahi said, his face more serious than Akaashi had ever seen it. He gestured to a chair, and Akaashi sat down. Oikawa and Asahi pulled chairs over and sat across from him.

“Asahi, I’m sorry about—” Akaashi began, but Asahi held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m not upset about it,” Asahi said. Then he crossed his arms. “I’m not upset about anything, Akaashi. I’m worried. We are worried.” Asahi gestured to himself and Oikawa, and Oikawa nodded in agreement.

“Aka-kun, something is going on and we want to help,” Oikawa added. “You haven’t been yourself at all.”

Akaashi looked away from them, glaring at a random spot on the floor. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You are not fine,” Asahi said. “Akaashi, you’ve forgotten things that you’ve never forgotten before; you can’t keep days straight at work. I’m honestly surprised you even remembered today was the show.”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said, his voice tight. He finally looked up to make eye contact with Asahi. “I’m trying, okay? And I know that it hasn’t been great, and I’ll try harder, okay? I know you need me to be with it, so I’ll work harder. I won’t let you down.”

Asahi’s face softened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but Oikawa got there first.

“This isn’t about how you’ve been professionally! I mean, sure, we see you the most at work so the things we notice have to do with work. But we aren’t stupid, Akaashi. If you aren’t eating here, we know that means you aren’t eating at home. You come here every day looking like you’ve barely slept. This isn’t about work, it’s about you! We are worried about how you are!” Oikawa was frantically waving his hands around in the air, trying to physically emphasize his words.

Akaashi stared at him with wide eyes. He had no words to respond to the other, and Asahi was simply nodding along with his words. Akaashi felt tears bubbling to the surface again, and before he could stop himself, they were sliding down his cheeks and he was gasping for air. He buried his face in his hands, and then he felt Oikawa’s thin arms wrap around him, and Asahi’s warm hand was on his shoulder.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Akaashi whimpered into Oikawa. He felt embarrassed that his coworkers were literally holding him, but he also didn’t care anymore because, damn it, he needed a hug.

“I don’t want to press the issue if you don’t want to talk about it,” Oikawa said softly, “but I saw Bokuto the other day. He was really concerned about you. If something happened between you two, you can talk to us about it.”

Akaashi didn’t want to talk about Bokuto or what had happened, so instead he told them about the overwhelming anxiety. He told them how he felt like he could barely function and how he was worried about every single thing he did. He told them how the stress of everything was too much, and he just wanted to shut down for a little bit. He also told them that he didn’t want advice, just someone to listen to him.

Asahi and Oikawa both promised that they would listen, no matter what. After Akaashi composed himself, Oikawa bid farewell to them.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Asahi said to Akaashi. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Akaashi stared out the window, avoiding eye contact with the other, embarrassed over his emotional outburst. The ride was quiet for a few minutes before Asahi finally spoke.

“I want you to take some time off,” he said.

Akaashi turned to him, dumbfounded. He stumbled over a few words, but Asahi only shook his head.

“I’m not saying this because you’re in trouble or something, Akaashi,” he said, glancing over at him. “You need a break. You work constantly, even taking work home with you. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

Akaashi just shrugged. He didn’t know.

“You need some time to just relax and feel like yourself again. I know that work is important to you, but now that the show is over, things will slow down a bit. We have plenty of pieces already completed, so we’re ahead of schedule. I’ll make Oikawa do his own networking for a little bit. Please, take some time off. You need to rest.”

Akaashi nodded, thanking Asahi as they pulled up outside of his apartment building. Akaashi began to climb out of the car when Asahi addressed him again. He leaned over to look back into the car at his boss.

“I think you should tell your family about what’s going on,” Asahi said.

Akaashi hugged himself and nodded. He had only mentioned his parents to Asahi a few times, but Asahi knew they weren’t exactly the most understanding people. Akaashi had a feeling that Asahi was suggesting he tell his parents how he felt about the way they had treated him thus far in life.

He bid Asahi farewell, slowly entering his apartment building and making his way to his home. He patted Miko on the head when she greeted him, spending a minute trailing his fingers through her soft fur as she rubbed on his legs and purred. His shoulders ached from tension, and he wanted desperately to crawl into bed and ignore the world. He decided, instead, to take a bath and try to relax.

Akaashi waited a whole day to take Asahi’s advice. He had spent the day on the couch, not bothering to change out of his pajamas, alternating between staring at his mother’s contact information in his phone and napping. Finally, nearing the hour of the evening when his mother would likely have a glass of alcohol in her hand, hopefully making her a little softer around the edges, Akaashi pressed the call button.

It rang a few times before Akaashi heard a crackle and then his mother’s voice.

“Keiji,” she said, “this was unexpected.”

“Hi, Mom,” Akaashi replied, fiddling with some loose threads on the hem of his pants.

“What is the occasion?” His mother’s voice was smooth and flat. Akaashi got his perpetual look of disinterest and apathy honestly.

“Um,” he said, “I just wanted to talk to you.”

He heard a shuffling noise and then the clinking of ice cubes in a glass. It was nice to know he still knew his mother’s habits.

“About what?” she asked, her voice still disinterested despite her inquiry.

Akaashi sighed. It was now or never. “I just…things have been really hard for me, lately. I, uh, I’ve been having a really hard time with my anxiety and just…managing.”

His mother was silent on the other end for a few beats. He heard her take another sip of whatever she was drinking. His stomach felt knotted.

“Keiji,” she finally said, her voice sounding slightly, just slightly, exasperated. Not enough for her to make an actual effort, but still there. “We’ve talked about this…anxiety.”

Akaashi knew what she meant. She didn’t even like to say the word; she acted like it was a deformity, something marring the perfect child she had hoped he would have been. She didn’t believe it was something that warranted conversation. In fact, when Akaashi’s school teachers had brought it up to her, about how Akaashi isolated himself from his peers and could barely speak in class without shaking, she had brushed them off; she had told them that it was something he would learn to outgrow, and if they kept feeding him attention over it he would never move past it.

“I know,” he said, his voice getting tighter. He tried to blink back tears. “I know, but Mom, it’s really bad now. I’m not just saying it’s bad. I…I’ve barely been able to get out of bed. I hardly eat anymore, and my coworkers are really worried about me. And I’m…I’m kind of worried too. It’s never been this bad—”

“And what do you want me to do about this, Keiji?” His mother’s voice was sharp. He pictured her in the chair she always sat in; the throne in his childhood home where he had bowed at her feet and silently begged for attention. He pictured her sitting there, wearing some expensive piece of clothing, sipping on pricey alcohol, her hair perfect, her nails manicured, her heavy eyelids sitting over the blue eyes that matched his, looking disinterested and distant.

And he pictured the glint in her eyes that shone when she was fed up with his trivial behaviors. He had seen that glint many times as a child: when he was playing a little too loud, when he would ask her questions about the world that she didn’t feel like answering, when he would ask her to hold him after waking up from a nightmare. That look had always made him shiver, and he shivered now, miles away from her in his own apartment.

“I just…” he mumbled, coughing to cover up the way his voice betrayed his gathering tears. “I just want you to…to listen to me. For once, Mom? Can you listen to how I feel?”

She sighed. “I do not believe that listening to you complain about feelings you have total control over is productive, Keiji,” she said. “It’s time you stop using this as a crutch and learn to control your emotions. You are an adult.”

Akaashi curled into himself and nodded even though his mother couldn’t see it. He wanted to tell her that this wasn’t something he could control; he wanted to tell her that he was scared and just because he was an adult didn’t mean he didn’t need his mother sometimes. But he knew she wouldn’t listen or care, so he just resigned himself to agreeing with her.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Is there anything else you needed to talk about?”

“No.”

“Alright then,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Well, you know you can call or come visit us anytime. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight, Keiji.” She hung up the phone.

Akaashi stared at his phone for a minute, unabashedly letting the tears that had gathered in his eyes fall down his cheeks. She acted like he had any reason to come visit them or call. She acted like what she had just said, the way she had just treated her own child when he came to her in need, was okay. She acted like just because they had technically taken care of him most of his life, that their actions weren’t so neglectful, that she and his father hadn’t left Akaashi to fumble through adulthood, incapable of understanding or coping with his own emotions.

Akaashi felt his chest tighten, and he pressed his face into his knees, which were tucked tightly against himself. He was tired of crying, and he was tired of feeling so lost and helpless. But he felt like he was completely alone. His breath quickened, and it almost felt like he was drowning in the air that surrounded him. It was suffocating, and he was desperate for relief.

His fingers were moving before his brain could make sense of what he was doing. He picked up his phone, returning to his contacts and frantically scrolling up until he found the name he was looking for. He clicked the call button and brought his phone to his ear, his hands trembling.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

 _Please answer. Please…_ he begged silently.

The ringing tone stopped, and it was silent for a moment before:

“Akaashi?”

Akaashi let out a strangled sound, finally gasping for the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Bokuto.”


	9. Long Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday!! Quarantine is really getting to me, and I just needed a break. I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!!
> 
> We get to spend some time with Bo in this chapter, so enjoy the sweet owl-boy's perspective!!

At the awards dinner, Kuroo had pulled Bokuto away from their table under the guise of looking for dessert. Bokuto had followed because, like, dessert.

But then they had taken a detour into a hallway outside of the dining room and Kuroo was suddenly asking a million questions about Akaashi. Specifically, he was asking a million questions about Bokuto and Akaashi’s relationship.

Having been completely caught off guard, it had taken Bokuto a moment to catch up to the situation.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” he finally had interrupted, waving his hands around. Kuroo had stopped then, leaning back a little, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “You’re asking way too many questions right now,” Bokuto continued. “My brain can’t keep up. Slow down.”

Kuroo had rolled his eyes then leaned in closer to his best friend again, making sure they were eye to eye. “It’s simple, really,” he had said, his voice low but also teasing, “what’s going on between you and Mr. Pretty Eyes in there?”

Bokuto had blinked, pursed his lips a little, and blew air through his nose. “Nothing,” he had finally replied.

Kuroo had thrown his head back and laughed. “Bo, try not to sound so disappointed about that.”

“Kuroo,” Bokuto had whined, tipping his head against the wall and sighing. “I can’t help it! I mean, you’ve seen him now.”

Kuroo had nodded, smirking. “You just gotta make a move, Bo. I mean, he’s into you. It’s written all over his face.”

Bokuto had frowned then. “I don’t even know what to do.”

“Just be yourself, Bo,” Kuroo said encouragingly.

“Kuroo, _‘myself’,”_ Bokuto made air quotes around the word, “is a mess.”

Then Kuroo had laughed again, slapping him on the back and leading him to actually get dessert.

And then Bokuto had ended up at Akaashi’s apartment, in Akaashi’s apartment, cuddling his cat and hanging out with him. He had seen Akaashi laugh, really laugh, and he had wanted so badly to follow Kuroo’s advice. But he had chickened out, caught off guard when Akaashi had dropped the honorific on his name, and then had decided to leave.

And then Akaashi had kissed him.

The events of the night flashed through Bokuto’s mind quickly. How had he ended up here, outside of Akaashi’s apartment, having found the door slammed in his face before he could properly react?

It took a second for his brain to catch up, but when it did, Bokuto could have kicked himself.

_Really? Now? Of all times for you to go blank and not react you chose now?_

Bokuto stood at the door, pulling on the roots of his hair. Should he leave? Should he try to talk to Akaashi? He probably thought Bokuto didn’t like him, which was so far from the truth that it made Bokuto want to scream.

He raised his hand to knock, then dropped it. He took two steps away from the door, then went back. His hand raised, it dropped. He walked away, he returned. This pattern repeated another five or six times before Bokuto realized he probably looked like a crazy person and didn’t want any of Akaashi’s neighbors to call the police on him.

Finally, Bokuto decided that he would give Akaashi some space. He figured that he was probably embarrassed and trying to push the issue might make things worse. He walked down the hall, reaching the elevator and hitting the call button to return to the ground floor. As the doors opened, Bokuto took one last look over his shoulder at Akaashi’s door, wishing he would see him standing there, asking him to come back.

*

Okay, so, apparently giving Akaashi space was a mistake.

Bokuto stared in irritation at the running list of unanswered messages he had sent to Akaashi in the past week. Was he starting to get a little creepy about it? Maybe he should stop texting him. What if Akaashi actually didn’t like him and he was just going to ignore him until he stopped replying? What if Bokuto was one of those guys, the really clingy ones that couldn’t take a hint?

He shook his head, trying to refocus. No, Akaashi wasn’t that kind of person. And neither was Bokuto.

Bokuto was just concerned. He had thought about that night over and over, and he realized his own lack of reaction had probably caused Akaashi’s reaction. He felt bad; it wasn’t like he hadn’t liked it; it had just surprised him. He was worried that Akaashi was beating himself up, and his lack of response to any messages or phone calls only served to further Bokuto’s worries. He began to get so hyper-focused on his own concerns that he stopped worrying about things he usually did, like his appearance. It got to the point where he even stopped styling his hair back, letting it hang naturally around his face.

At the gym, Bokuto had waited for days, hoping and praying that Akaashi would show up. It got to the point where he turned his head every time the door opened to see who was entering.

“You’re like a puppy waiting for his owner to come home,” Hinata said one day when Bokuto had literally whipped his head around so fast to look at the door that he thought he gave himself whiplash.

“I can’t help it!” Bokuto whined, dropping his head to the counter dramatically. “Hinata, what do I do? He won’t respond to anything!”

Hinata tapped his chin, thinking over the entire situation. “Have you texted him and told him you weren’t upset? Or told him that he didn’t do anything wrong, that you just were surprised?”

Bokuto nodded into the counter. “Yes!”

“Oh,” Hinata replied. He leaned his elbows against the counter and rested his head in his hands, pushing his cheeks up. “Then I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You’re so helpful,” Bokuto muttered. He groaned into the counter and slumped his shoulders forward. “I feel like a big idiot.”

Hinata patted him on the back. “Maybe try talking to Kuroo about it. You always say he has really good advice. Maybe he can help.”

Bokuto nodded into the counter again. “I’m supposed to go over there tonight. I’ll ask him about it then.”

“You know, you probably shouldn’t put your face on the counter like that. I haven’t wiped it down in a while. It’s kinda gross.”

“Hinata! Why didn’t you say something before I put my face there! Now I’m going to break out!”

“Sorry, Bokuto!”

Bokuto trudged into Kuroo and Kenma’s home, kicking his shoes off haphazardly and shuffling over to slump onto the couch next to Kenma, who sat curled up on one cushion, scrolling through his phone.

Kuroo shut the door and strode over to the couch, flopping down next to Bokuto. “You seem a little grumpy,” he said, poking Bokuto in the face. “You haven’t even done your hair, so it must be pretty serious.”

“Akaashi still hasn’t replied to any of my texts,” Bokuto replied, pouting against Kuroo’s finger.

“Still?” Kuroo asked. “It’s been, like, almost a week.”

“I know!” Bokuto threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what to do anymore! I’ve tried everything. I mean, besides actually going over to his apartment. But I feel like that’s taking it a little too far.”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah, that would be pretty stalkerish.”

Kenma glanced up from his phone, leaning around Bokuto’s form slightly to look at the two of them.

“What happened with Akaashi?” he asked quietly.

Kuroo and Bokuto stared at him for a moment. Kenma only blinked at them in response, waiting for their explanation with a blank face.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Kuroo finally asked.

“Kuro, I have a better memory than the two of you combined,” Kenma deadpanned. “I wouldn’t be asking if you had.”

“After the award dinner, I went to Akaashi’s apartment and he kissed me,” Bokuto said. He sank further into the couch. “But I didn’t react, and I think it freaked him out. So he slammed the door in my face, and now he won’t reply to any of my messages. I’m worried about him, because he’s probably beating himself up about it, but he didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what else to say to get him to see that.”

Kenma hummed, sitting back against the arm of the couch and picking his phone up again.

“Akaashi has really bad anxiety,” he finally said, scrolling through the social media app he was on. “I would bet that it’s bad enough that he’s also got depression. So, I don’t think anything you say in a text message is going to convince him.”

Kuroo and Bokuto stared at Kenma, who finally looked up at them after neither had replied.

“What?” he asked.

“How do you know things like that?” Bokuto asked.

Kenma shrugged, returning to his phone. “I mean, isn’t it obvious? He fiddled with his fingers almost the entire night at the dinner. He only stopped once he didn’t feel like Kuro was prying into his life.”

Kuroo sputtered. “I wasn’t prying!”

“Maybe not, but it probably felt that way to someone who has anxiety. I mean, I know how it feels.” Kenma sat his phone in his lap, looking up at the other two on the couch and giving them his full attention. “I don’t like it when people ask me lots of questions about myself. I’m better now, but I didn’t like it when people even looked at me for too long when we were kids.”

Both Kuroo and Bokuto nodded, knowing that was why Kenma had always kept his hair long, and why his hair was still long.

“Anxiety makes you question everything, even from people that you trust. It takes a lot of work to get control over those thoughts, and if you have depression, it’s even harder to keep any control on them because you don’t really have the energy to do that.” Kenma tucked his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie, curling them against his chest as he spoke. “My guess is that Akaashi hasn’t had much support in that struggle, so he has literally no coping skills for it. Kuro, you helped me a lot when we were kids and made me feel safe when I was struggling. If Akaashi never had that, he’s at the mercy of his own brain.”

“Kenma, you should have become a psychologist,” Kuroo said.

Kenma huffed, rolling his eyes at his fiancé’s comment before continuing. “Words aren’t going to mean anything to Akaashi. Words can be lies, and they can be twisted. Actions are much harder to argue with. His brain will still try, but when the same actions are repeated over and over, eventually it becomes hard to say that they’re being done out of pity or something like that. So, Kou, no matter what you say in a text message, Akaashi isn’t going to believe you until you show him that you mean those words.”

Bokuto pursed his lips, considering Kenma’s words. He knew Akaashi really struggled with anxiety, he had seen it and Akaashi had told him about it. And Kenma was right when he deduced that Akaashi didn’t really have a support system; he hadn’t ever said so directly, but the way Akaashi had talked about his parents that one time made it pretty clear that they weren’t trying to help him cope with his anxiety.

“Okay,” Bokuto said, “so what do I do? How do I show him that I mean what I’m saying?”

Kenma shrugged again, slipping his hands out of his sleeves to return to his phone. “I don’t really know.”

“I take back what I said about you being a psychologist,” Kuroo said.

*

Another day passed with no response. Bokuto was incredibly antsy at this point, constantly checking his phone. He begged Akaashi to just tell him that he was okay; all he wanted to know was that Akaashi was alive.

One afternoon, after another day of waiting by the door at the gym like a puppy, Hinata had convinced Bokuto to go to the café down the street and get them coffee. Bokuto was pretty sure the last thing either of them needed was caffeine, but he knew how much Hinata loved frozen lattes, and Bokuto couldn’t resist the little redhead’s pouty face.

He was standing by the counter, waiting for their orders, aimlessly scrolling on his phone, when he heard a voice he vaguely recognized.

“Just the usual, thanks,” it said cheerfully. Bokuto could practically hear the smile in the voice.

He looked up at the other end of the counter, and sure enough, there was Oikawa. Bokuto recognized the perfectly styled, mousy-brown hair from the club that night. Although, now it wasn’t slightly flat from moving about on a dance floor. Oikawa turned in Bokuto’s direction, making his way to the end of the counter to wait for his order as well.

“Hey, hey, Oikawa,” he said, waving slightly.

Oikawa scrunched his eyebrows together, examining Bokuto’s face. “Do I know you?” he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Bokuto reached up and flipped his hair off his forehead. He was used to people not recognizing him with his hair down. As soon as he did that, recognition lit up on Oikawa’s face.

“Ah! Mr. Bartender!” Oikawa exclaimed. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Bokuto replied. He turned away for a moment to get his and Hinata’s coffees, then moved away from the counter and stood on the other side of Oikawa. “How are you? You have the fashion show soon, right?”

Oikawa nodded. “In two days. It’s been busy at work, but it’s a good kind of busy.”

Bokuto nodded in return, fidgeting with the coffees in his hands. “Um,” he finally said, looking anywhere but at Oikawa, “how is Akaashi?”

Oikawa didn’t reply immediately, so Bokuto looked up at him. His lips were pressed into a straight line, and there was a crease forming between his eyebrows. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels slightly before letting his breath out with puffy cheeks.

“He’s not too hot, if I’m being honest,” he replied. “In fact, he’s super not hot. I didn’t know Akaashi could get so…unorganized and…messy.” He paused between words, trying to find less harsh words to describe Akaashi’s condition.

Bokuto flinched. He felt his mouth pull down into a frown. “He won’t reply to any of my messages. Something happened between us the other weekend. It wasn’t bad or anything, I think it’s more of a misunderstanding than anything else, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m…” Bokuto took a shaky breath, trying to settle his emotions, “I’m worried about him.”

Oikawa’s face radiated sympathy. “I know, Bokuto. So am I. And so is Asahi. I could talk to him, maybe? Maybe convince him to reply to you?”

Bokuto shook his head. “He’s probably really stressed with the show coming up, I don’t want to make it worse. But if he brings it up…just tell him I’m worried?”

Oikawa nodded intently. He grabbed his coffee and the two walked out together, bidding farewell on the street before going their separate ways.

The music was annoying tonight. Bokuto didn’t know what DJ Suga had hired for the weekend, but he didn’t care for them. The music they played was full of weird noises that Bokuto was pretty sure didn’t belong in music, and nothing flowed together. The drunk people on the dance floor didn’t seem to care much, but Bokuto could feel a headache forming behind his eyes.

He made eye contact with Tanaka across the club, who looked just as irritated as he did, and they rolled their eyes at each other and made gagging faces. This brightened Bokuto’s mood a little, and he ran a hand through his hair (which he had actually styled this time) as he checked his phone. He sighed at the time, knowing he still had a solid three hours before he could make last call, and another hour after that before he could close the club down completely and shuffle up to his apartment to go to bed.

He was just about to put his phone back behind the bar when he felt it buzzing. He glanced down, and his eyes immediately widened when he saw the caller ID.

Managing to flag down a waitress to take his place at the bar, Bokuto hurried over to the bathrooms. He was thankful no one was in the men’s room as he flung the door open and pressed the answer button, the name leaving his lips before his phone was even at his ear.

“Akaashi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kenma is really hard to write.


	10. Deep Stare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! Two updates in one day!! I couldn't keep you guys waiting. This chapter was difficult to write emotionally, so I wish you luck.

Bokuto heard Akaashi make a gasping sound on the other end of the phone, and he felt his chest clench tightly. Was Akaashi crying?

“Bokuto,” Akaashi choked out. He was definitely crying.

Bokuto pressed his phone hard against his ear, trying to hear Akaashi over the muted but still booming music in the background.

“Akaashi, are you okay? What’s wrong?” he asked frantically.

“I can’t…I can’t breathe,” Akaashi replied, gasping between his words.

“Where are you?” Bokuto put his free hand over the ear that didn’t have a phone pressed to it.

“At…At home. I can’t breathe.” Akaashi’s voice was desperate and frightened, and it made Bokuto want to cry himself.

 _Get it together, this is not the time to be overly emotional,_ he told himself.

“I’m so…so sorry Bokuto,” Akaashi was sobbing into the phone. “I’m so terrible…I ignored you for so long and you didn’t do anything wrong and I’m sor…sorry I was just scared I’m scared now please don’t be mad at me I’m sorry.” His words were running together into one long, gasping word, his voice getting higher and higher as he spoke.

“Akaashi, it’s okay. It’s okay. Please, listen to me. I need you to listen to me, okay?” Bokuto said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. Akaashi didn’t need him to start freaking out too.

“Okay,” Akaashi replied, sounding so small, his voice still trembling from his sobs.

Bokuto took a deep breath. “You’re home, so you’re safe. And I’m here, talking to you, so it’s going to be okay. But you have to breathe. So, breathe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Akaashi said again.

Bokuto took a deep breath through his nose and then let it out through his mouth slowly, trying his best to make sure Akaashi could hear him breathing.

“Through your nose and out your mouth, okay?” he said after a few breaths. Akaashi didn’t respond, but Bokuto could hear him trying to take shaky breaths. After a few minutes had passed, Akaashi seemed much calmer; Bokuto couldn’t hear him gasping and whimpering anymore.

“Just keep breathing,” Bokuto said softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“My chest hurts,” Akaashi whispered. Bokuto almost didn’t hear him.

“You’re having a panic attack. But it will be okay, just keep breathing.”

“Everything is moving so fast in my head,” Akaashi said. Bokuto could hear the panic rising in his voice again.

“Hey, hey, don’t listen to those things,” Bokuto said quickly, grasping desperately for something to say to keep Akaashi from slipping back into the panic attack. “There’s this new DJ at the club tonight. He sucks. I’m going to have to tell Suga to never bring him back. I mean, the music he plays has like, robot sounds and stuff in it, but it doesn’t sound good. It sounds like a robot is dying.”

Akaashi let out a breathy laugh, and then it sounded like he choked on his tears again. “Oh God, Bokuto, you’re at work. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Bokuto said hurriedly. Just then, someone started pounding on the bathroom door. An irritated voice came from the other side.

“Yo! Come on! Other people need to use the bathroom!”

Bokuto turned and kicked the door. “Go away, I’m busy!”

“Bokuto…?” Akaashi sounded terrified in Bokuto’s ear.

“No, no, not you, Akaashi,” Bokuto replied.

His brain was frantically trying to make a decision. Usually this kind of chaos helped Bokuto focus, but his emotions were swimming and clogging his ability to rationalize. Akaashi was having a panic attack, and there was no way Bokuto could just leave him on his own. But he couldn’t stay in the bathroom on the phone all night. He didn’t want to drive over to Akaashi’s on the phone because that was way too distracting, but he didn’t want to hang up, because what if it got bad again and he wasn’t there to talk Akaashi through it? If he went over to Akaashi’s, would it be okay if he parked in front of the building for a long time? He didn’t want to take someone’s parking spot, especially if they lived there.

_Koutarou, focus. Parking is the least of your worries right now._

“Akaashi, I need to go do something, but don’t hang up, okay?” Bokuto said, unlocking the bathroom door and flinging it open. He shoved his way past a red-faced man standing at the bathroom door, who yelled some string of expletives before going into the now vacant bathroom.

Bokuto ignored him, making his way back to the bar quickly, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Don’t hang up Akaashi,” he repeated loudly, though he couldn’t hear if Akaashi responded because of the blaring music. He returned to the bar, grabbing his jacket and keys. He turned to the waitress, begging her to cover for him, explaining he had an emergency. Thankfully, she agreed easily, wishing Bokuto good luck. He made a mental note to give her all his tips.

He ran out of the club, racing to his car that was parked around the corner. As soon as he got in, he turned his phone to speaker and started the car.

“Are you still there, Akaashi?”

Akaashi made a noise on the other end of the call, something between a squeak and a whimper. “Yes,” he replied.

“I’m coming over,” Bokuto said. His phone was sitting in his lap, held in place with one hand, and he prayed that no cops noticed.

“Bokuto, no,” Akaashi whined. Bokuto had never heard that tone come from him before; it was unsettling. “You can’t just leave work and come here.”

“Well, it’s too late for that. And I’m not going back, so don’t tell me to.” Bokuto didn’t want to sound harsh, but he made sure his voice carried a tone of finality so Akaashi wouldn’t continue to argue. If there was one thing the man was, it was stubborn, and Bokuto was having none of it tonight.

“I’ll be okay,” Akaashi said quietly. There was no hardness behind his words, almost as if he knew he shouldn’t fight it but couldn’t let Bokuto have the victory so easily.

Bokuto only let out a single, barking laugh. “I’ll believe that when the phone call doesn’t start with you calling me in the middle of a panic attack.”

“You shouldn’t be on the phone and drive at the same time.” Akaashi really couldn’t help himself, could he? Bokuto wondered if this was a pride thing.

“I’m not hanging up,” Bokuto replied. “And if you hang up, I’ll call back until you answer. Which is even more dangerous because then I’ll have to look at my phone.”

Akaashi didn’t reply to that, just made that squeaky whimper noise.

Bokuto arrived at the apartment building, parking his car against the curb haphazardly and dashing into the building. He didn’t bother taking the elevator, knowing he would be too impatient, and instead sprinted up the steps to Akaashi’s floor. He was still on the phone with Akaashi, but they hadn’t been talking for a few minutes. Bokuto ran down the hall and slid to a stop in front of Akaashi’s door.

“Akaashi, I’m here, let me in,” he said into the phone, breathing heavily from his dash up the steps.

Akaashi didn’t reply right away. In fact, he was eerily quiet.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto repeated. “Come on, let me in.” He reached out and twisted the doorknob, trying to see if it was already unlocked. It wasn’t.

“No,” Akaashi replied, his voice thin.

“No?” Bokuto stared at his phone for a moment, before putting it back to his ear. “Akaashi, it is okay. Please just let me in.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Yes, it is. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” Bokuto took a deep breath, swallowing the frustration that was rising in his throat. “Akaashi, if you don’t come let me in right now, I’m going to make such a big racket. I’m going to start yelling.”

Akaashi was quiet for a moment, then, “Don’t start yelling. My neighbors will hear.”

“Then come let me in.” Bokuto’s voice was soft.

He heard shuffling on the other end, then the small click of the door unlocking. Bokuto ended the call and turned the doorknob, opening the door slowly and stepping into Akaashi’s apartment.

The first thing that Bokuto noticed was that the apartment was bitterly cold. He shivered, opting to keep his jacket on, and stepped further into the living room. All the lights were out, the only source coming from Akaashi’s TV. He had it turned to the news, but it was muted. Bokuto found the thermostat on the wall, saw that it was only set to fifty-five, and cranked the heat up. He glanced over to the couch, where he could see a lump under a pile of blankets.

As he approached the couch, he heard the small twinkling from her collar as Miko lifted herself from the chair on the other side of the room, leaping from her seat and trotting over to Bokuto to rub against his legs. He knelt to pet her softly, then stood again and sat next to the bundled lump on the couch.

He reached out and put his hand on what he assumed were Akaashi’s legs. There was no movement, but he could feel slight warmth coming from where he had sat his hand.

“Hey, Akaashi,” he said, almost whispering. He felt like he was approaching a stray animal that was cowering in a corner. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements and scare him.

Akaashi didn’t reply, so Bokuto scooted closer. He lifted his hands from Akaashi’s legs and brought them to where he thought Akaashi’s head might be. He tugged on the blankets softly, pulling the layers away until he finally saw the top of Akaashi’s head. Even buried under the blankets, Bokuto could tell that Akaashi’s dark curls were messier than usual. Bokuto gently pulled the blankets down further to reveal Akaashi’s face.

He was looking up at Bokuto, but his face was expressionless. Bokuto felt his stomach knot when he saw how red and swollen Akaashi’s eyes were from crying, and he was incredibly pale. The first thing Bokuto thought was that Akaashi looked sick. This scared him a bit, and he felt himself frown. Akaashi shifted his eyes away then, pressing his face into the back of the couch.

Bokuto didn’t know what to say or do. He was afraid of crossing Akaashi’s boundaries at this point. But then Akaashi’s shoulders were trembling, and Bokuto heard soft sobs coming from where Akaashi had his face pressed. Bokuto’s face twisted in pain; he couldn’t stand seeing Akaashi this way. He slipped his jacket off, sliding closer to Akaashi on the couch and untangling blankets until he found the other’s hands.

Akaashi curled further in on himself, trying desperately to pull away from Bokuto’s touch, but Bokuto was gently persistent. He rested his hands on Akaashi’s, grimacing when he felt just how cold they were. It reminded Bokuto of the cold metal bars at the park that he would climb on in the winter as a child: biting, numbing, and shockingly cold.

“Akaashi, please.” Bokuto was whispering now. It felt like a crime to speak any louder than that.

Akaashi was trembling, but he allowed Bokuto to take his hands and wrap his own around them. Bokuto breathed hot breath between their hands, squeezing Akaashi’s and trying to encourage the blood to circulate again. He hoped the heat would warm the apartment quickly, but he was glad Akaashi had at least been under a pile of blankets.

“I’m so sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, coughing on the sobs that he was trying to hold back. “I never…I never wanted you to see this. I’m sorry you have to see this.”

Bokuto shook his head, lifting his eyes from their hands to look directly at Akaashi. “Stop apologizing,” he said. Akaashi’s eyes were dark and clouded, not the usual, deep blue Bokuto was used to.

Akaashi leaned forward and pressed his face into his forearms, his trembling getting worse. “I can’t,” he said, shoulders shaking with another sob. “I can’t stop, I can’t help it. I want to but everything in my head is so loud and I can’t figure out what to say next and everything is too much it’s too much I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

His words were clumping together again, running into each other in a frenzy as Akaashi tried to let some of his chaotic inner world out. Bokuto understood the feeling; he had spent much of his life trying to communicate his feelings in a coherent way.

Bokuto remembered what Kenma had said. It was pretty clear that Akaashi had no control over his emotions at this point. Kenma was right, he was at the mercy of his own brain. Bokuto remembered what it was like when he started taking medication for his attention issues; one made his brain feel muddled and foggy, another made him feel blank and empty. At the time, he had felt like he wasn’t in control of his own body. Eventually, the doctors had found a medicine that didn’t make him feel so unlike himself, and things leveled out. But he remembered that feeling of losing control, of lacking control, and it had been terrifying and frustrating.

The difference, though, was that Bokuto hadn’t been alone in his own battles. He had always had his parents to help him figure out the next right steps, and they had always advocated for him with every doctor they talked to. They had never made him feel like he was broken or wrong for his struggles; they had always just accepted it as a part of what made Bokuto himself, and they had only sought medical assistance when it became clear that Bokuto was struggling.

Beyond that, Bokuto had found Kuroo, and by extension, Kenma. Having struggled with anxiety his whole life, Kenma had been understanding of Bokuto’s insecurities. Even though Bokuto was louder and more outgoing than Kenma, the other boy had never treated him as different or less. Kuroo, having grown up alongside Kenma and learning how to help him cope with his anxiety, had never given Bokuto’s struggles a second thought. Their energies had meshed immediately, and when Bokuto had felt low and discouraged, Kuroo had helped pick him right back up and never criticized him for it.

It broke Bokuto’s heart that Akaashi had never experienced that kind of love and support. Bokuto couldn’t imagine struggling alone; he knew that he would have never made it if he’d had to. Akaashi had no control now, but Bokuto made a silent promise to Akaashi and himself in that moment that he wouldn’t let things stay like they were.

Bokuto let go of Akaashi’s hands and placed his hands on Akaashi’s cheeks, gently lifting his head from his arms so they could look at each other.

“Listen to me,” he said softly. “You have nothing to apologize for. I know that your brain is telling you otherwise, and I know that it’s really hard to listen to other things right now. But you have to believe me when I say that it is okay. I am not mad, or upset, or whatever else your mind is saying. I am happy that you called me. I am so glad that you aren’t alone right now, and I want to be here with you.”

Akaashi screwed his eyes shut, taking a shaky breath before reopening them, meeting Bokuto’s eyes again.

“Have I ever lied to you, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked.

“I don’t…think so,” Akaashi whispered.

“No. I have never lied to you. And I never will.” Bokuto caught some of Akaashi’s tears with his thumbs and rubbed them away gently. “It is okay. Do you believe me?”

Akaashi stared at Bokuto for a moment before finally nodding. He was still trembling, but the tears had finally stopped, and he seemed calmer.

“You look so tired,” Bokuto said softly, lifting a hand to push some of Akaashi’s curls from his face. “Have you slept at all?”

Akaashi shrugged, leaning into Bokuto’s touch slightly. “Not well,” he muttered.

“Lay down,” Bokuto instructed, standing and tucking the blankets back around Akaashi as he settled against the couch. He sat on the floor next to the spot where Akaashi was laying his head. “You need some rest. We can talk more once you’ve slept.”

“Will you stay?” Akaashi asked, a hand reaching out to tangle his fingers with Bokuto’s.

Bokuto squeezed gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It only took a few minutes for Akaashi’s breaths to even out. Bokuto couldn’t help but watch him sleep, thankful he finally looked peaceful.

*

Bokuto laughed as Miko bounded back into the kitchen, carrying the ring from the milk carton that Bokuto had just thrown in her mouth. She dropped it at his feet, and he knelt to toss it down the hallway once again. She trotted after it, then returned, dropping it back at his feet. Bokuto batted it with his finger, sending it sliding across the floor. Miko pounced on it, trapping it between her paws and shaking her head playfully. She lifted it in her mouth, tossed it up, then pounced on it again as if it were a mouse she had just caught.

They had been playing like this after she had brought the little piece of plastic to him when he had gone to make tea. It had taken him a few minutes to find everything he needed, unfamiliar with Akaashi’s kitchen, but he was now waiting for the water to boil. Miko was keeping him entertained with her playful antics. He had never known a cat to essentially play fetch, let alone with a plastic milk carton ring, but he thought it was adorable.

He stood when the kettle sounded, pouring himself some tea. He heard a soft noise from the entrance to the kitchen, and he looked over his shoulder to find Akaashi standing there. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he looked sleepy but much more rested than before. His eyes were no longer swollen.

Akaashi knelt when Miko brought him the plastic ring, picking it up from the floor, shaking his head softly before tossing it down the hallway for his cat to chase.

“You know, I buy her toys, but she picks those out of the garbage,” he said to Bokuto.

Bokuto chuckled. “I guess it’s the simple things. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Akaashi replied. “What time is it?”

Bokuto hummed as he poured tea for Akaashi. “Around six, I think.”

“In the morning?” Akaashi took the cup from Bokuto gratefully, sipping the warm liquid slowly.

Bokuto nodded, leaning against the counter.

Akaashi shuffled where he stood. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little,” Bokuto said. “But I’m used to being up late on the weekends, so it wasn’t really anything different than the usual. I might get to sleep by five in the morning after working at the club, so it’s not like I’m way off schedule.”

Akaashi only nodded, staring intently at his tea.

“How are you feeling?” Bokuto asked.

“Better, a little,” Akaashi said. He looked up and sighed. “I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bokuto interrupted. Akaashi stood with his mouth open for a moment, then snapped it shut and laughed softly.

“How come this is always where we end up?” Akaashi asked quietly. Bokuto only tipped his head in response. “You know, me finding you in a kitchen after waking up feeling groggy and like I got hit by a bus,” Akaashi explained.

Bokuto laughed, pushing off the counter and walking toward Akaashi. He brushed some of his curls away from his face. “At least this time you’re not hungover.”

Akaashi pursed his lips. “I think I might prefer that.”

Bokuto laughed again, taking one of Akaashi’s hands and leading him toward the couch. They sat, and Akaashi curled his knees against his chest and leaned on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Thank you for staying,” he said, taking a sip of his tea.

“I called off work tonight,” Bokuto replied. Akaashi sat up, looking at him with surprise. Bokuto only shrugged. “I told you I was staying. And I don’t think you should be alone right now. It’s fine, don’t feel bad. I would rather be here.”

Akaashi looked doubtful for a moment, and Bokuto braced himself for a push and pull until he got his way. Surprisingly, though, Akaashi only nodded and leaned his head against Bokuto’s shoulder again.

Akaashi slept some more, and Bokuto simply sat next to him, watching the muted TV and trying his best to lip read. He was tired, but he had a lot on his mind, and it was making it difficult to find sleep. He knew what he wanted to talk to Akaashi about, but he wasn’t sure about the best way to approach it.

When Akaashi awoke again, he made them lunch. Afterwards, Akaashi offered for Bokuto to shower, which he did, borrowing back the clothes he had given Akaashi when they had first met. Akaashi showered then, leaving Bokuto to continue formulating his plan.

“I like your hair down,” Akaashi said after he returned from his shower, sitting back on the couch and wrapping his blanket around his shoulders. His curls were slightly tamed now, less wild bedhead and more sophisticated mess.

Bokuto pushed some of his hair off his forehead, smiling. “Don’t get used to it. It looks too normal like this; can’t have people thinking I’m calming down.”

Akaashi laughed softly. He reached out and pulled one of Bokuto’s hands closer to him, fiddling with Bokuto’s fingers gently. Bokuto thought it was endearing; apparently Akaashi’s nervous habit was not exclusively kept to himself. He smiled softly, but then pressed his lips together. Bokuto knew he needed to bring up the topic he’d been mulling over all morning, no matter how hard it might be.

“Hey, Akaashi,” he said, curling his fingers around the other’s. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Akaashi looked up at him. “Okay.”

Bokuto took a deep breath, letting it ruffle his hair when he blew it out. “I think it might be a good idea for you to go see a doctor about your anxiety.”

Akaashi stilled, frowning and looking down at their joined fingers. It was quiet between them, nothing but soft breathing.

“You do,” Akaashi finally said, his voice small. It wasn’t a question, just a statement.

Bokuto nodded, squeezing Akaashi’s fingers in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “I’m not saying that you’re broken or anything, Akaashi,” he said. “None of this is your fault.”

Akaashi looked up at him then, eyes wide. It broke Bokuto’s heart; he knew that Akaashi was blaming himself for everything. He took Akaashi’s other hand, holding them close together. They were warmer now.

“None of this is your fault,” he repeated. “I’m sure you’ve never had anyone tell you that, but it’s true. I don’t want to see you hurt this much anymore, but I can only do so much. I think if you talk to a doctor, they can help you learn how to control your emotions. But you don’t have to do it alone. I will help you as much as I can, and I will always be here. I’m not going anywhere. But…” Bokuto paused, taking a deep breath. “But you need help, Akaashi. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to feel guilty about that, because none of this is your fault. But I’m worried that this will only get worse if you don’t get help.”

Akaashi brought one hand to his face to wipe away a few tears that were gathering in his eyes. Bokuto felt a tug in his chest.

“I think you’re right,” Akaashi said softly, his voice slightly shaky. “I just…I just feel so weak. I feel like I should be able to get over this myself.”

Bokuto shook his head, lifting Akaashi’s chin so he would look at him. “This is no different than something like a broken bone or cancer. Just because you can’t really see it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” he said. “You wouldn’t tell yourself that you should just be able to get over your arm being broken, or cancer, or something like that. I think it actually takes a lot of strength to admit you need help and then go get it.”

Akaashi’s lips curled into a small smile, and he nodded.

“Okay,” he said.

Bokuto breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, squeezing Akaashi’s hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just here for supportive Bo.


	11. Don't Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this!! I'm sad this is almost over, but I have more ideas ready to go and nothing but time.  
> This one is long... It wasn't nearly as difficult to write as chapter 7, but its length was imposing. A lot happens.  
> Enjoy!

Bokuto glanced over at Akaashi in the passenger seat. He was fiddling with his fingers, pulling on them one by one and pressing them together. Bokuto knew Akaashi was just trying to comfort himself; these days were particularly stressful for him.

They were on their way to Akaashi’s fourth appointment with his new doctor. Bokuto had offered to take Akaashi each week so he wouldn’t be alone. Akaashi had resisted at first, insisting that it wasn’t fair to ask Bokuto to leave work early. In response, Bokuto changed his hours at the gym and started going in two hours earlier so he could leave work at the same time Akaashi would.

Bokuto would wait either in his car or in the waiting room for Akaashi during his appointment. It wasn’t something he minded doing at all, though he knew Akaashi always worried about it. Bokuto felt better knowing Akaashi had someone to offer support after difficult appointments. Akaashi had come out of his doctor’s office red-faced and puffy-eyed the last two appointments, and Bokuto had taken him home and stayed with him until Akaashi was mostly back to his normal self.

This appointment was no different, though Akaashi looked less flustered when he exited the office. They walked silently to Bokuto’s car; they usually didn’t talk about what went on in Akaashi’s appointments unless Akaashi volunteered the information. As Bokuto started in the direction of Akaashi’s apartment, the other spoke up.

“They’re going to start me on medication,” he said softly, looking at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

Bokuto hummed, turning the corner onto the main road. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Akaashi replied, sighing. “I’m nervous, but my doctor thinks I need something to help me get balanced out again. He said I might not need to stay on it forever, but for now it could help as I process more things.”

“I think he’s right,” Bokuto replied, glancing over at Akaashi. “You know, when I started taking medication, I thought I would be on it forever. I still take it, but it’s a much lower dose than when I first started. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop taking it, but it helped me learn how to manage my thoughts and learn techniques to keep my attention and regulate my moods. I didn’t need as much help from the medication after I learned those things and got good at them. I know you’ll be able to do the same.”

Akaashi looked over at him and smiled softly. “That makes me feel a lot better about it, Bokuto. Thank you.”

Bokuto smiled and reached over to squeeze Akaashi’s hand. Akaashi squeezed back, lacing their fingers together.

*

“I’m just saying that I don’t want you to get too invested in this. You’re not a doctor, Bo.”

“I never said I was.” Bokuto slumped against the back of his seat, glancing out the window to see if Akaashi had appeared from the apartment building yet. Kuroo had called him while he was waiting in his car to take Akaashi furniture shopping. He had finally convinced the other to redecorate his apartment, insisting that making the space feel like his own would help him. Akaashi hadn’t argued with him, only looked at him skeptically before agreeing.

“You’re also under no obligation to be Akaashi’s only support in this,” Kuroo continued, sighing when Bokuto didn’t respond. “Are you giving me the grumpy look?”

“No, I’m giving you the ‘stop telling me what to do’ look,” Bokuto replied.

Kuroo sighed again. “I just don’t want you to take on more than you can handle.”

“Was Kenma too much for you to handle? I mean, you guys were just kids when you met. Or was I too much for you to handle?” Bokuto asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew that Kuroo meant well. Bokuto tended to invest himself in people who didn’t give the same investment back, and then he would get hurt. Kuroo had seen it happen many times, so it made sense that he was concerned. But Bokuto knew Akaashi, and he knew that Akaashi wouldn’t do that to him.

“No,” Kuroo replied. “Neither of you were, or are. I guess I’m just worried because I don’t know Akaashi that well.”

“Kuroo, do you remember when I first started taking my medication and I stopped laughing? And then when I changed meds and started sleeping all the time?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, “it was really freaky. You weren’t yourself at all.”

Bokuto shifted his phone to his other ear. “Well, that was really hard for me because I didn’t feel right at all. I knew I wasn’t acting like myself, and it bothered me because I thought I would have to choose between being a stranger to myself and everyone or stay this person who couldn’t focus and could hardly control his emotions.”

Kuroo made a noise on the other end of the call, like he was wincing at the memories of that Bokuto.

“But I knew that I wasn’t alone,” Bokuto continued, “because you were always texting me and calling me. Even if I didn’t feel like myself, and even if I acted like a totally different person, you never changed, and you were always there to help me. You didn’t think you were overinvesting yourself; you were just being a good friend and doing what good friends do. So, I totally understand your concerns, but I promise you that I’m not getting too invested. I’m not Akaashi’s only support in this, just like you weren’t the only support I had, but I’m still going to keep being here for him no matter what.”

Kuroo hummed, and Bokuto thought he was probably grinning. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Clearly I had nothing to worry about. But there’s only one problem with your logic here, Bo.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not doing this just because you’re Akaashi’s _good friend.”_ Now Bokuto knew Kuroo was grinning.

“Oh shut up, Kuroo,” Bokuto replied, though it carried no bite. Kuroo cackled. “Akaashi is coming, I have to go.”

“Have fun, Lover Boy,” Kuroo crowed as Bokuto ended the call.

Akaashi opened the passenger door then, sliding in next to Bokuto.

“Hi!” Bokuto chirped, beaming.

“Hi,” Akaashi replied. He glanced down at the phone still in Bokuto’s hand. “Who was that?”

“Just Kuroo,” Bokuto replied, setting his phone in a cupholder.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just being Kuroo.”

Akaashi laughed softly, turning to look out the window as they drove away.

Bokuto wasn’t sure what he had expected when he and Akaashi decided to go furniture shopping, but he certainly hadn’t expected to have so much fun.

Akaashi was pressing his lips together hard, clearly trying to hold back a smile as Bokuto draped himself dramatically across a chaise lounge.

“Akaashi, you should get this and then when you draw your designs, you can pretend they’re laying on this thing. I’ll even model for you,” Bokuto said, grinning.

“Pfft,” came Akaashi’s reply, finally letting himself smile as he giggled at Bokuto. “That looks even more uncomfortable than my current couch.”

Bokuto sat up and bounced on it. “Nah, it’s pretty squishy. But I guess it doesn’t really work for more than one person.”

He jumped up and bounded back to Akaashi’s side, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the rows of display furniture. Akaashi followed willingly, pointing at different pieces of furniture as they passed and commenting on them. He and Bokuto tried a few others, sitting on different ends of the couches, reclining chairs, and laughing at each other when they reclined too quickly and almost flung themselves onto the floor. They rounded the corner, starting down a new row of displays, when Bokuto came to a halt, Akaashi smashing his nose into his back as he stumbled into him.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said quietly, and he pointed at the piece sitting before them. Akaashi poked his head around Bokuto’s shoulder, then moved to stand next to him.

“Bokuto, that is way too big for just one person in an apartment,” Akaashi said.

“It would totally fit, though. Your apartment is huge; much bigger than mine,” Bokuto replied. He skipped over, plopping himself down on the huge sectional, and then flopped onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

Akaashi moved to stand next to him, leaning forward slightly to put himself in Bokuto’s line of vision. “I’m still only one person, Bokuto.”

“Miko would love this couch,” Bokuto said, sitting up. “And you could invite Oikawa and Asahi over, and you guys could watch those weird alien movies Oikawa loves so much, and you would have so much room to spread out. I mean, you’d have so much room that even me and Noya could come and watch them too!”

In the past few weeks, Bokuto had started spending his lunch breaks with Akaashi, which meant he also spent them with Asahi and Oikawa. Sometimes Noya would join them, and it would usually result in Bokuto almost being late for appointments back at the gym and sprinting down the street to make it in time. He had become fast friends with Oikawa; the two of them ganging up on Asahi and Akaashi to tease them and convince them to spend Friday nights at the club while Bokuto bartended. Asahi never left Akaashi’s side at the club anymore, opting to instead let Oikawa and Noya run around like unsupervised children at an amusement park while he, Akaashi, and Bokuto chatted.

It was a nice change of routine, and Bokuto was excited to have made even more friends. Asahi and Oikawa had become integral in supporting Akaashi in his healing process, and Bokuto was glad that they all got along so well. It was better for Akaashi that way.

“Bokuto, I think the truth is that you want this couch,” Akaashi said, his voice humorous.

Bokuto shrugged. “I mean, I’ve always wanted a sectional.”

Akaashi laughed. “So, you’re living out your couch dreams vicariously through me?”

“Absolutely,” Bokuto replied, falling back on the couch.

To his surprise, Akaashi ended up liking it and agreeing to buy it. After completing the sale, he set up a time for it to be delivered, and he and Bokuto left to go to another store. A part of redecorating meant that Akaashi wanted to get rid of the paintings he disliked so much. Instead, they had sat together and chosen some paintings of city skylines that Akaashi liked, as well as found some photographs of Akaashi’s pieces from different fashion shows, and had them sent to a printer to be stretched onto canvas. They were going to pick those up after Akaashi found some other decorative things that he wanted.

A few days after their trip, Akaashi’s new couch was delivered. Bokuto had helped Akaashi move his other one, giving it to Oikawa, who apparently was in love with the uncomfortable thing and was so excited that Akaashi didn’t want it anymore. Akaashi just said he was glad to get rid of it.

Bokuto was pleased to get to lounge on the sectional as much as he wanted, as he was at Akaashi’s apartment most days after working at the gym, but it was apparent that Akaashi liked it just as much. He had found brightly colored decorative pillows that were a pleasant light blue, which stood out against the dark charcoal of the couch. Bokuto had helped him find new curtains that matched the pillows in color pretty closely. He had wanted Akaashi to go through with the neon colored curtains, but Akaashi had refused, even though he had laughed the whole time.

Now, most nights Akaashi sat on one end of the couch, either watching whatever movie they had settled on, or replying to and sending emails for work. Bokuto would sit on the other end of the couch, sprawled out on the cushions, napping or playing on his phone when Akaashi was working. Sometimes they would talk idly, sometimes they would play games.

Bokuto’s favorite times were when Akaashi would work on designs. He would sit with his back against an armrest, his knees pulled up so he could use his thighs as a desk to place his sketchbook on; Bokuto would lean his back against Akaashi’s legs, either playing on his phone or petting Miko, who would curl up on his lap.

It was soothing to listen to the scratch of Akaashi’s pencil on the paper. Sometimes he would lower the sketchpad in front of Bokuto’s eyes, asking him what he thought. Bokuto knew nothing about designing clothes, but he would always praise Akaashi’s drawing skills.

One night, Bokuto tipped his head back slightly, resting it on Akaashi’s knees and closing his eyes. Miko was laying in his lap, purring contentedly while Bokuto ran his fingers through her fur. The scratching of Akaashi’s pencil stopped, then Bokuto felt gentle fingers pulling through his hair. It was a soothing, tender gesture, and Bokuto felt his body immediately relax against Akaashi’s legs. He sighed softly and leaned into Akaashi’s touch.

“Are you tired?” Akaashi asked, his voice soft.

“A little,” Bokuto replied, barely a mumble.

“You can stay tonight, if you want,” Akaashi said, pressing the tips of his fingers into Bokuto’s scalp gently.

“Mmkay.” Bokuto was only barely registering what Akaashi was saying.

Miko stood on Bokuto’s lap, stirred to movement when Bokuto’s hands had stopped carding through her fur. She was still purring as she crawled up his chest, pressing her nose against Bokuto’s chin and rubbing her cheeks on his. Bokuto laughed softly, opening his eyes and picking his head up to resume his petting. Akaashi’s hands dropped to his lap and he smiled softly.

“Sorry, Miko,” Bokuto said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Akaashi sat forward slightly, reaching around to drag his hand down Miko’s body. “I think she likes you more than me, now,” he said.

Bokuto smiled. “Good, because, you know, I only started hanging out with you for your cat.”

Akaashi smacked Bokuto’s arm lightly, laughing.

*

Things had almost gone back to normal; Akaashi still came to visit him at work on the weekends, spending late nights with him at the club just to keep his company. He started coming back the gym, and when Bokuto didn’t have other clients he would follow Akaashi around and chat with him. Akaashi never seemed to mind.

They spent most of their free time together, though Akaashi had started going to his appointments on his own. He insisted that it was a part of him becoming more confident in himself, and Bokuto was happy to step back. When they weren’t together, they were still texting throughout the day. Bokuto was proud of Akaashi; he was becoming more confident and comfortable with himself, letting himself laugh out loud more often and be playful. Sometimes Akaashi would walk Bokuto back to the gym after their lunch, and the walks had turned into races to see who was faster more than a few times. Bokuto always won, but Akaashi would insist it was because Bokuto had athletic shoes on and Akaashi was wearing dress shoes.

Akaashi’s growth, however, didn’t come without its struggles. He wasn’t always cheerful and bubbly; sometimes he still curled up under his blankets in bed and didn’t want to go anywhere. On those days, Bokuto would come over if he could. If he couldn’t, he would check on him through texts and phone calls, but now Akaashi didn’t ignore him. He would still get nervous, and there were times when he would call Bokuto and frantically relay some situation that was stressing him out. Sometimes it was logical, but sometimes it wasn’t. Bokuto would patiently help him sort through his thoughts.

The other major struggle was a side effect of Akaashi’s new medication. He had been taking it for about a month, and even Akaashi had to admit that it helped take the edge off his anxiety. However, it made him immensely sleepy. He could usually make it through the day, though he had increased his coffee intake, but often Akaashi would fall asleep while texting Bokuto on weeknights that he wasn’t at the other’s apartment; when they were together, Akaashi would fall asleep on the couch watching movies or with his pencil still in his hand and his sketchpad still on his lap.

On weekends when he would visit Bokuto at the club, Akaashi would often doze off at the bar. This was one of those nights. Bokuto glanced across the bar at Akaashi, who was sitting in his usual spot at the very end. Usually Akaashi would be able to keep himself occupied and mostly awake, but he seemed to be struggling this time around. Bokuto thought he must have had a busier week at work. After Bokuto finished the drink orders that had just come in and topped off some of the people sitting at the bar, he made his way down to Akaashi, who was leaning against his hand and drooping slowly. He tapped Akaashi on the arm, startling the other fully awake.

“I’m up!” he yelped, eyes wide.

Bokuto laughed and reached into his pocket, dropping a key ring on the bar in front of Akaashi. “Go up to my apartment and get some sleep,” he said. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Akaashi stared at the keys for a few seconds, then he looked back up at Bokuto. “But if I take your keys, how will you get into your apartment?”

“I have a spare key,” Bokuto replied, pushing the keys closer to Akaashi. “Go.”

“Why don’t you just tell me where the spare is then?”

Bokuto gave Akaashi a playful grin, picking up the keys and placing them in Akaashi’s hand. “Do you really think I would reveal my top-secret spare key hiding place to you?”

Akaashi smiled and rolled his eyes, sliding off the stool and waving to Bokuto as he made his way past Tanaka and out the door.

Once the club had finally emptied out and Bokuto had finished his closing duties, he and Tanaka saw the waitresses off like they usually did, and then waved goodbye to each other. Bokuto rounded the corner into the alley, reaching above the door and prying a loose brick free to retrieve his spare key. He walked up the steps and entered his apartment. The lamp he usually left on in the living room was still shining, which also told him that Akaashi was not sleeping on the couch.

Bokuto slid his shoes off, shedding his jacket, then wandered down the short hallway to his bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to find Akaashi sprawled out on his stomach in the bed, one arm tucked under a pillow, the other draped across the rest of the mattress. Bokuto laughed under his breath as he dug through a drawer to find sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt to sleep in; for someone so typically reserved, Akaashi would take up the entire bed while he slept. Bokuto had seen it multiple times. Akaashi even sprawled himself across the couch when he would fall asleep there.

After changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth, Bokuto reentered his room quietly to grab a pillow from his bed. Akaashi had shifted in his sleep, and Bokuto saw that he had changed out of his clothes and into some of Bokuto’s. It was comical how loosely Bokuto’s clothes hung on Akaashi; Bokuto could see Akaashi’s slender shoulder as the sweatshirt he had on slipped down his arm.

Bokuto grabbed the hem of his comforter and tucked it back around Akaashi. He pushed some of Akaashi’s messy curls from around his face, taking a moment to observe his sleeping form. Bokuto often found himself staring at Akaashi while he slept; it was one of the rare times that Akaashi didn’t have any guards up. Even though he was getting better, Bokuto knew he still had a long way to go before he could lower the walls he had been building and maintaining since childhood.

He hesitated for a moment, considering all possible outcomes, decided he could deal with any of them, and leaned down to press a soft kiss into Akaashi’s hair. It smelled slightly of cucumbers and mint, and it was soft against Bokuto’s cheeks. He stood and tucked his pillow under his arm, giving Akaashi one last glance before tiptoeing to the doorway. Just as he was about to click the door closed behind him, he heard Akaashi’s voice float to him from the darkness.

“Bokuto,” he whispered, his voice still thick and heavy with sleep.

Bokuto leaned in around the door, peering into the darkness. He could only make out Akaashi’s form at this distance. “Yeah? Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Akaashi replied. Bokuto heard him roll over to face the door. “Stay.”

“Stay?” Bokuto stepped back into his bedroom and walked back to his bed. He sat on the edge of it and Akaashi’s hand found him in the darkness.

“Stay,” Akaashi repeated, tugging on Bokuto’s arm.

Bokuto hesitated, fearful of making the wrong move. Did Akaashi even know what he was asking? But Akaashi was still tugging on his arm, so Bokuto relented. He settled on his side, his head resting on the pillow he had originally intended to sleep with on the couch. Akaashi had repositioned himself so he wasn’t taking up the entire bed, and once Bokuto was nestled under the covers, Akaashi scooted closer to him. He pressed his face into Bokuto’s chest, his arms curled underneath his body. He fell back to sleep almost instantly, breathing softly and evenly against Bokuto.

Bokuto laid still and stiff for a few minutes, convinced Akaashi would wake and move away from him quickly.

But that never happened.

As the minutes passed, Bokuto felt his body start to relax against Akaashi. His eyelids started to droop, and he draped his arm across Akaashi’s side. He closed his eyes, listening to Akaashi’s even breathing, and drifted off the sleep himself.

Kuroo and Kenma sat on the other end of their couch from Bokuto, staring at him like he had just grown another head. Kuroo had been absentmindedly twirling Kenma’s long hair, and Kenma was sitting between Kuroo’s knees, playing on his PSP, but even that had been forgotten in the wake of their shock. Bokuto stared back at them, waiting for a reply to the story he had just spun about his and Akaashi’s cuddling session.

“You know you guys are dating, right?” Kuroo finally said.

Bokuto furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No we’re not.”

Kuroo laughed obnoxiously, pulling some of Kenma’s hair back between his fingers and resuming his twirling. “Yes, you are.”

“You don’t just cuddle with someone once and then declare you’re dating. We’re not in middle school, Kuroo,” Bokuto shot back, admittedly irked over Kuroo’s teasing.

Kenma huffed and smiled, leaning back against Kuroo’s chest and tucking his own knees to his chest.

“Don’t just sit there and grin at me like that, Kenma,” Bokuto said, turning his attention to the quiet boy. “Spit out whatever you’re thinking.”

“For once, and this is a rarity, I actually agree with Kuro,” Kenma replied.

Kuroo fist pumped. “Yes! I need to mark this day. This only happens like, three times a year.”

“We’re not dating!” Bokuto crossed his arms, huffing out a breath.

“You just told us that you cuddled in your bed last weekend,” Kenma said.

“And you spend almost every night at his place. And if you’re not at his place, he’s at yours,” Kuroo added.

“And you two went furniture shopping together,” Kenma said, his sly grin returning.

Kuroo nodded, resting his chin on Kenma’s head. “The furniture shopping really sealed the deal.”

“Do you have a drawer at his apartment?” Kenma asked.

Kuroo smirked again. “Does he have a drawer at your apartment?”

Bokuto stared at them for a moment, blinking slowly. They did have drawers at each other’s apartments, but he wasn’t about to say that. Then he shook his head again. “No. There’s no way you can be dating someone and not know it.”

“Sure you can. Kuro and I were dating for months before he realized it,” Kenma said.

Kuroo shifted his eyes down to look at the top of Kenma’s head. “We were?”

Kenma nodded, eyes shifting up slightly.

“We’ve never even had a conversation about anything like that,” Bokuto said, crossing his legs and propping his head up with his hand, his elbow pressed into his thigh. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to, but right now just doesn’t seem like the time. He’s still working on a lot of things.”

“Akaashi doesn’t strike me as the most talkative type,” Kuroo said, shrugging. “Maybe he thinks you guys are dating and just assumes you already know.”

“No,” Kenma said, picking up his PSP and returning to his game. “Akaashi is the kind of person who needs to know what’s happening in every aspect of his life, and he wouldn’t risk miscommunication by allowing someone to be on a different page than he is. Especially when it comes to a relationship.”

“How can you speak so confidently about someone you barely know?” Kuroo asked. “You act like you talk to him all the time.”

“I do,” Kenma replied.

“What?” Bokuto and Kuroo spoke simultaneously.

Kenma nodded. “We exchanged numbers during the awards dinner. He and I have been texting for months.”

Bokuto gave Kuroo an exasperated look, and Kuroo threw his hands up.

“So now what?” Bokuto asked. “Do I just like, talk to him about it?”

Kenma glanced up at him, an eyebrow twitching up. “I mean, yeah. That’s kind of how relationships work.”

Bokuto pouted at Kenma. “Kuroo, control your sassy cat.”

Kuroo shook his head. “I don’t wear the pants in this relationship, Bo. Sorry.”

*

Bokuto had every intention of bringing up the relationship topic with Akaashi. He had rehearsed the way he would start it, and he had even asked Kuroo for advice (which was fruitless). Kenma had offered him a few words of direction instead, which had been helpful. And Kuroo had redeemed himself by encouraging Bokuto that he had nothing to worry about.

And he really didn’t think he had anything to worry about. He felt confident when he went over to Akaashi’s apartment after work on a random Tuesday, having been asked to come over and help take down paintings and put up new pieces of art on the walls. He knew how he was going to approach the subject; he actually felt excited.

And then there was a knock on the door. Akaashi glanced in its direction, looking back at Bokuto in confusion, then back to the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked Bokuto.

“This is your house,” Bokuto replied.

Akaashi set down the canvas he was holding and walked to his door. Bokuto watched him open it, and then watched more intently as Akaashi’s back muscles stiffened. Bokuto took a few tentative steps toward him before stopping in his tracks as Akaashi stepped aside to let the unannounced guest enter.

If someone could lower the temperature of a room just by existing, it was this woman. She stepped into the threshold, her heels clicking against the hardwood, and slipped her jacket from her shoulder to drape across her arm. Her hair fell in dark curls down her slim shoulders, and her expressionless face was strikingly angular and beautiful. She scanned the visible apartment, her cold blue eyes lingering on Bokuto just long enough to make him fidget, before moving on and returning to Akaashi.

Bokuto didn’t need the introduction Akaashi gave to know who she was.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi said, his voice disturbingly small, “this is my mother. Mom, this is Bokuto.”

“Hello,” Bokuto said, trying his best to sound pleasant. He even managed a small, polite smile.

Akaashi’s mother nodded in Bokuto’s direction without actually acknowledging him.

“This is unexpected,” Akaashi said, shutting the door. He brushed past her, reentering his apartment and coming to stand next to Bokuto.

His mother shrugged and walked into the living room, not bothering to remove her shoes. “I was in the area for work and decided I would stop by and say hello.” She was staring past the pair standing in front of her. “I see you replaced your sofa.”

Akaashi nodded, and Bokuto noticed him clasp his hands together and begin fiddling with his fingers. Irritation flared in his stomach, not at Akaashi, but at this woman whose very presence could so easily unsettle Akaashi.

Her eyes landed on the canvases scattered about the room, the process of hanging them stalled by her arrival; if she had an opinion about them, she said nothing.

“How have you been, Keiji?” she asked, turning her attention back to her son.

It frustrated Bokuto how she pointedly ignored him. Did she think she was better than him? She didn’t even know him.

“I’m fine,” Akaashi replied. He looked so deeply unsettled and uncomfortable in his own skin, and Bokuto wondered if this was how he had spent his entire childhood.

His mother gave a small, barely there smile. “You look good. You don’t look as thin as the last time we saw each other.”

“Bokuto was my personal trainer for a little while, and I have been working out more,” Akaashi said, tilting his head in Bokuto’s direction as he spoke. He refused to make eye contact with his mother.

“I didn’t know personal trainers also came to spend evenings with their clients in their apartments,” his mother replied, eyeing Bokuto again.

“We’re also friends,” Akaashi said.

His mother hummed. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a _friend,_ Keiji.”

Akaashi’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Bokuto didn’t miss the double meaning in her words. His irritation was growing; not only was this woman effectively unraveling Akaashi’s hard work by just being present, but now she was teasing him about his relationships. Bokuto narrowed his eyes at her, and he knew she saw it because her subtle smirk faded, and she reset her lips into a hard line.

Bokuto would count that as a victory in this passive aggressive standoff.

“Are you replacing my paintings?” Akaashi’s mother asked, her eyes leaving Bokuto’s to again scan the room.

“Yes,” Akaashi replied. “I decided I wanted a change.”

His mother crossed the room to pick up a canvas and examine it. It was one of the ones from the most recent show; Bokuto remembered seeing the dress slung over Akaashi’s shoulder when he had first come to the gym. Akaashi had told him it was his favorite piece from the show because it was all his own; Asahi hadn’t helped design it at all. Akaashi was extremely proud of it, and Bokuto tensed when Akaashi’s mother picked it up. He feared he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if she spoke lowly of it.

She stared at it for a few moments, then glanced back to her son. “One of your designs, I presume?”

Akaashi nodded. His fiddling had increased, and Bokuto wondered if the redness blooming on Akaashi’s knuckles was from his embarrassed flush or from rubbing his skin raw.

“It’s a bit boastful to display your own work around your home, don’t you think?” Akaashi’s mother said, setting the canvas on the floor.

“But it’s not boastful to hang your own paintings all over your son’s apartment without his input?” Akaashi replied.

Bokuto snapped his gaze to Akaashi, shocked that those words had just left his mouth. Akaashi didn’t look irritated, but his tone had conveyed it. It made Bokuto’s heart swell with pride.

Akaashi’s mother had gone still, and her face had hardened. She gave her son an icy stare for a few moments, the atmosphere in the room heavy, until she schooled her expression back to one of apathy.

“How disappointing,” she muttered, turning away from Akaashi and Bokuto to head for the door.

“What?” Akaashi asked, his eyes suddenly wide. Bokuto thought he looked scared.

“I’m just disappointed that I worked so hard to raise a respectful child, and then as soon as he gets a little taste of freedom, he thinks it is acceptable to speak to his own mother in such a way,” his mother replied. She turned back to them, and her blue eyes were dark, betraying the emotions she was so adept at hiding. She was seething.

Akaashi looked like he had just been kicked in the stomach. Bokuto frowned, knowing that receiving his mother’s disapproval was a deep trigger for his anxiety. They had talked about it.

“I’m not trying—” Akaashi began, but his mother cut him off.

“Keiji, stop that fiddling with your fingers. I’ve been scolding you for that since you were a child. It is an unsightly habit.”

It felt like time had frozen. Akaashi’s cheeks were a deep red, and Bokuto felt his lips begin to snarl in anger at this cold woman. He opened his mouth to finally speak to this cold woman, but suddenly he heard Akaashi’s voice.

“Do not come into my home and criticize my life and my relationships and my choices and then act like you have a right to be disappointed!” Akaashi’s voice was dripping with venom, and Bokuto stared at him in shock. He was no longer fiddling with his fingers; instead, Akaashi’s hands were balled into fists at his sides.

He lifted one hand and pointed at the door. “Get out.”

His mother looked just as shocked, and it was momentarily satisfying to see her so flustered. “Keiji, do not speak to me—”

“Get. Out.” Akaashi punctuated each word, his voice trembling with anger.

His mother stared at him for a moment longer, then huffed a laugh and slipped her jacket back over her shoulders.

The laugh seemed to be the final straw for Akaashi, because he finally moved. He walked forward, placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders, and spun her around. It wasn’t aggressive, but Bokuto still stared in shock as Akaashi marched his mother to the front door. He flung it open, pointing to the hallway, his eyes bright with anger.

“I said get out,” he said. His mother took the few steps into the hallway, trying to look as dignified as possible, but faltering when Akaashi picked up one of the paintings he had taken off the wall. He tossed it into the hallway after her, and Bokuto saw her flinch slightly when it landed at her heeled feet.

“And just so you know,” Akaashi said, his voice loud now, “I hate your stupid paintings! They’re boring and ugly!”

Akaashi’s mother stared at him and a split second passed before she straightened her shoulders and gave him a cold smirk.

“I would have expected a more diverse vocabulary from you, Keiji,” she said.

Akaashi reached over to grab the door tightly, then he slammed it shut with all his strength. Bokuto jumped at the loud boom it caused. He began trying to formulate something to say but stopped when Akaashi stomped back into the living room and grabbed one of the paintings still on the wall.

To Bokuto’s shock, Akaashi ripped it off its mounting, tearing some of the backing off the frame. He turned on his heels, then, and smashed the painting onto the floor. Its frame splintered at the seams and corners, and the glass covering the print shattered. Akaashi then grabbed the print that lay underneath. He pulled it out of its casing and proceeded to tear it to shreds, letting them fall to the floor.

Bokuto watched, eyes wide, shocked at such a display of raw anger. He had never seen Akaashi behave that way, and it was a little unsettling. But then Akaashi was reaching for the frame, intending to pick it up and smash it into the floor again, and Bokuto jumped forward to grab his wrist and pull him away.

“Akaashi,” he said with a little effort as the other struggled in his grip, “Akaashi, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself on the glass.”

Bokuto put himself between Akaashi and the mess on the floor, and it seemed like his entrance into Akaashi’s rage-induced tunnel vision helped snap him to reality. Akaashi backed away, and Bokuto loosened his grip on his wrist, slowly letting it go. Akaashi’s face was flushed, and Bokuto could see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Akaashi stared at the mess behind Bokuto, then folded his arms against himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, not looking at Bokuto.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Bokuto replied, shaking his head.

“I lost my temper. That was unreasonable.”

Bokuto scoffed. “Um, no, what was unreasonable was the way she treated you. Damn, Akaashi. I’m so sorry. I knew it was bad, but—”

“Bokuto, I would like for you to leave. Can we finish this another time?” Akaashi was staring at the floor.

Bokuto took a moment to process what Akaashi had just said. It didn’t make any sense. “What?”

Akaashi sighed, tightening his arms around his torso. He looked on the verge of bursting into tears. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Bokuto. I just… Please leave.”

“Akaashi—”

“Leave.”

Akaashi still wouldn’t look at him, and Bokuto was confused. He stood there a moment longer, staring at Akaashi, waiting for him to say something else, or take it back, or something. He didn’t, so Bokuto turned and walked to the door. He stepped over the rubble on the floor, carefully avoiding any shards of glass, and put his shoes on. He took the few steps toward the door, grabbing his jacket.

He paused with his hand hovering over the knob.

Then he threw his jacket down and kicked off his shoes. He did so with such force that they bounced off the door with two distinct thuds. The sound caught Akaashi’s attention, who was now watching Bokuto stomp back over to him with wide eyes.

Bokuto planted himself in front of Akaashi and crossed his arms.

“No,” he said.

Akaashi blinked at him. “What?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“I’m not leaving.” Bokuto swallowed the irritation rising in his throat, trying desperately to quell it and not make the situation worse.

He couldn’t help but wonder briefly, _Are we about to fight?_

Then Akaashi glared at him, a look that reignited the fires of irritation sitting in Bokuto’s stomach.

_Oh yeah, we’re about to fight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry Akaashi.


	12. Kiss Anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a late update, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer. I spent the entire day writing this chapter, and it's my favorite by far.  
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos. I never expected such a reaction for this fic, but I'm so happy.  
> Enjoy <3

Akaashi’s stomach tightened as he stared at Bokuto. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to start screaming or crying. His mother had barged in here, tipped his entire world upside down, and now Bokuto was going to stand here and tell him he refused to leave?

He would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him, the way Bokuto was looking at him. His golden eyes were simmering under the surface; Akaashi knew the look. He had first seen it in Bokuto’s kitchen when he had asked Akaashi if the man in the bathroom had hurt him. It was the way Bokuto’s eyes looked when he was angry.

 _He’s mad at me,_ Akaashi thought miserably.

Bokuto being angry with him made Akaashi want to throw up. He could hardly handle anyone being angry with him, but he knew he could never handle that emotion being directed at him from Bokuto, of all people.

His mind was racing, and the logical side of Akaashi was conjuring up all the strategies his doctor had taught him for when this happened. But emotions were difficult for Akaashi; he had slipped into fight or flight as soon as he’d opened the door to his mother. Now, Bokuto was backing him into a corner (at least that’s how it felt), and he felt himself snapping. He wanted to throw up, but that sensation was squashed by the much stronger feeling of anger; it was bubbling in his stomach, and when Bokuto had refused to leave, it burst.

“I said I want you to leave,” he said to Bokuto, his voice almost a growl.

Bokuto shook his head, his arms still crossed. “I’m not leaving.”

“I want to be alone.” Akaashi was grasping at straws. Surely Bokuto would leave if he just gave him a reasonable excuse for his request.

Bokuto gestured to the hallway behind Akaashi. “Then go to your room or the bathroom. Or I’ll go there if you want to stay in the living room. This apartment is plenty big enough, we can easily avoid each other for a while.”

“You can’t just refuse to leave,” Akaashi said, exasperation creeping into his tone.

“Well, I am.”

“This is my house.”

Bokuto turned away from Akaashi and walked over to the couch, plopping down. “Then call the police.” He was staring at Akaashi, challenging him. “Tell them I won’t leave and that you want them to forcibly remove me.”

Akaashi threw his hands up and then dropped them heavily at his sides. He was aware that he likely resembled a toddler throwing a tantrum because he wasn’t getting his way.

“Bokuto, I’m not calling the police on you,” he replied.

“Then I guess I’m not leaving.” Bokuto leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest again. His gaze never left Akaashi. His jaw was set, irritation etched all over his features.

Akaashi pressed his lips together and stared back at Bokuto. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No,” Bokuto replied, “you’re just upset and not thinking straight so you’re trying to control the situation as best as you can. And that’s fine, you can throw more paintings on the floor if that’s what’s going to make you feel better. But I’m not leaving.”

Akaashi felt his cheeks flush with anger. “What are you trying to accomplish?”

His voice was inching toward hysterical, and he knew was yelling. It made him even angrier that Bokuto was so outwardly calm, mostly because he could see the anger boiling right under the surface in Bokuto’s eyes.

 _Why can he control himself so well and I can’t?_ Akaashi thought desperately. It wasn’t fair.

But just as he thought that, Bokuto’s eyes softened. The hard frown he had been giving Akaashi faded. Now he just looked sad.

“I’m not leaving you alone, Akaashi,” Bokuto said, still speaking with a kind of finality that Akaashi envied, but he wasn’t being harsh. “You’re still learning how to control your emotions. You can’t expect to be perfect at it this early on. And I can’t leave here knowing you’re rolling in them. I won’t leave you alone.”

Akaashi wanted to drop his defenses; he wanted to agree with Bokuto, thank him for refusing to leave, and then curl up against him and cry out all his anger, frustration, and fear. But his anger was still fresh, and his mother had barely shown any care for it when it was directed at her. Akaashi still wanted to scream at her, but she wasn’t there anymore. And everything Bokuto was saying was true, which frustrated Akaashi even more because why could Bokuto see through every wall and barrier Akaashi had built?

“I am controlling my emotions now,” Akaashi said, desperately trying to eliminate any expressions from his face that would betray the lie he was telling.

“Akaashi, refusing to feel them is not controlling your emotions. You’re fluctuating wildly between feeling them all at once and feeling nothing at all,” Bokuto replied. He sat up straight on the couch, and Akaashi wondered if Bokuto had sat down in an attempt to create a less confrontational atmosphere.

In fact, he knew that’s what he had done. Bokuto had purposely given Akaashi the higher ground.

“Your emotions are still controlling you,” Bokuto continued. “You need help coming down from this, and that’s totally okay.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

It felt like all the air had left Akaashi’s lungs. He flinched, not because what Bokuto said had been particularly painful, but because Akaashi knew he was right. Akaashi was being incredibly childish.

But his anger refused to subside, no matter how much he wanted it to.

“Just leave!” Akaashi was definitely hysterical now.

Bokuto stared at him, his eyes still soft. “No,” he said evenly.

Akaashi reached up and grabbed handfuls of his hair, squeezing his hands into fists in frustration. When he dropped his hands, he knew his hair probably looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care.

“Why? Why won’t you just go?” he screamed at Bokuto. “Why would you want to stay here with someone who can’t get their shit together?” The tears that he had been ignoring burst forth, streaming down his cheeks. “Why would you waste your time with someone who is so beyond fixing?”

Bokuto leapt up from the couch and closed the distance between them. He grasped Akaashi’s arms, holding him in place firmly, but his grip was gentle. He didn’t look angry, just desperate.

“Because you’re not beyond fixing, Akaashi!” he said, his voice further conveying that desperation that was so apparent in his eyes. “You’re just stressed and hurt and confused right now, and that’s okay.” He dropped his hands from Akaashi’s arms and pointed at the door. “But I am not going to walk out that door so you can hide away in your room and not talk to anyone for days! I’m not going to leave so you can ignore me again and have a mental breakdown all by yourself!”

Akaashi shrunk away from Bokuto. “I thought you said you weren’t mad about that,” he said, glaring.

Bokuto pressed his hands to his cheeks and let out a frustrated noise, then dropped his hands. “I’m _not!_ That’s not what this is about! This is about how far you’ve come and how much progress you’ve made. I’m not going to walk away from you and let you relapse and not stay by your side through it. If you want to go hide under your covers, fine. I’ll let you. But I’m not leaving this apartment until you feel better enough to get out of bed and shower and eat and live your life.”

Akaashi shook his head, tears still falling steadily. “Clearly I haven’t made that much progress because I’m right back here! You’re wasting your time, Bokuto! I’m a lost cause! Stop wasting your time on me!”

“You have made progress, Akaashi! A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even been angry! You would have just taken all that crap from your mom with a nod and a bow. The fact that you’re even angry right now shows that you know what she did was wrong and that you deserve better.” Bokuto poked his finger into Akaashi’s chest. “And _you_ don’t get to tell me what to do with my time!”

Akaashi looked down at Bokuto’s finger, then back up at his face. He reached up to slap his hand away, but then Bokuto continued talking.

“If this is how I want to spend every damn day of my life, then that’s my choice. You don’t get to make it for me.” He poked Akaashi again before dropping his hand. “But just so you know, it’s not wasting your time when you’re just being there for someone you love.”

It felt like time stopped, and Akaashi felt every bit of anger left in him drain from his body.

“Love?” The single word, a question, came out as a shaky breath.

Bokuto gave Akaashi a small smile, suddenly looking very small. “Yeah, love.”

Akaashi hugged himself, curling his arms around his torso more out of instinct than anything else. His mind was utterly silent, and he just blinked at Bokuto. The other was shuffling where he stood, chewing on his bottom lip.

“You…love me?” Akaashi finally managed to whisper.

Bokuto looked at Akaashi and nodded. “I mean, this wasn’t how I was planning on having this conversation, but then again I wasn’t anticipating your mom showing up either. She kind of sucks, you know.”

Akaashi let out a strangled laugh, then wiped away some of the tears still lingering on his cheeks and in his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I know.” He swallowed the lump of emotions still sitting in his throat. “How were you planning to have this conversation?”

Bokuto grinned. “Well, I was going to talk about how much time we’ve been spending together, and about how I’ve literally been flirting with you since the night we met. And I was going to tell you how Kuroo and Kenma told me that we were dating but just didn’t know it. Then I was going to ask if you wanted to date, but like, in a way where we knew it. And if that all went well, I was going to fix that big mistake I made.”

“What big mistake?” Akaashi asked, the corners of his mouth pulling down in confusion.

“This one,” Bokuto said. He closed the gap between them, placing his hands on Akaashi’s cheeks and pressing their lips together.

Akaashi would have become a puddle on the floor if Bokuto hadn’t been holding him. The kiss was soft, just an innocent touch of lips. It ended way too early for Akaashi’s liking, but his head was buzzing, and he was starting to feel dizzy.

Bokuto rested his forehead against Akaashi’s, and Akaashi closed his eyes to try to regain composure. He reached up and wrapped his hands around Bokuto’s wrists, whose hands were still cupping Akaashi’s cheeks gently. After taking a few steadying breaths, Akaashi opened his eyes and found Bokuto staring at him, his golden eyes that molten honey that Akaashi could look at forever.

Akaashi opened his mouth to say something like ‘I’m sorry for screaming at you,’ or ‘I love you too,’ or something else that was remotely appropriate for the situation. Instead, he burst into tears. A heavy sob escaped from his throat without his permission, and his chest heaved like a weight had just been lifted.

Bokuto immediately pressed his lips to Akaashi’s forehead and wrapped his arms around him. Akaashi crumpled against his chest, letting Bokuto hold his entire weight and keep him from collapsing to the floor. Akaashi twisted Bokuto’s shirt into his fists and sobbed against his shoulder; his body shook with the force of all the emotions finally being released, and Bokuto held him there while he trembled.

His sobs finally subsided after a few minutes, and he released Bokuto’s shirt to wrap his arms around Bokuto’s waist. He pressed his face into Bokuto’s shoulder, trying to steady his breathing.

“Are you wiping your snotty nose on my shirt?” Bokuto asked; Akaashi could hear his smile.

Akaashi snorted into Bokuto’s shoulder and nodded. Bokuto laughed and shifted his arms, coaxing Akaashi to lift his head. He did, and Bokuto reached up to hold his face, kissing the lingering tears off Akaashi’s cheeks. Once he was satisfied, Bokuto ran his hands through Akaashi’s curls, down his back, and wrapped his arms around Akaashi’s waist. Akaashi raised his hands to touch Bokuto’s cheeks, gently pressing his fingertips into the soft skin. Bokuto smiled.

“I’m sorry I screamed at you,” Akaashi whispered, his voice hoarse from his sobs.

“It’s okay, it was kind of hot,” Bokuto replied.

Akaashi laughed and touched his nose to Bokuto’s, closing his eyes.

“Bokuto,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“I love you, too.”

Akaashi tipped his head and kissed Bokuto, his arms sliding around to the back of the other’s neck. Bokuto returned the kiss, pulling Akaashi against his body. Warmth spread through Akaashi to the point where he almost felt feverish, and he deepened the kiss. Bokuto hummed against Akaashi’s lips, lingered there for a moment more, then separated from him to take a breath. He pressed another kiss into Akaashi’s forehead.

“So, can I stay here or are you still trying to kick me out?” Bokuto asked, his voice muffled against Akaashi’s skin.

Akaashi shook his head and smiled. “No, please stay.” He dropped his arms from Bokuto’s neck and turned to look at the mess still on the floor. “Whoops,” he whispered as he took in the sight.

Bokuto laughed. “Come on, let’s clean this up before Miko cuts her precious little paws on the glass.”

*

Cherry blossom petals floated through the air, carried on the gentle breeze that was so often associated with April. A few petals brushed across Akaashi’s nose, tickling his skin the same way Miko’s tail would on the mornings he slept in late and she would sit upon his chest, waiting patiently for him to awaken and feed her.

He reached up and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose then readjusted his glasses, which had become lopsided from his movements. He pulled his knees to his chest and curled into the cushioned bench he was sitting on, hugging himself. It was still early enough in spring for the breeze to carry a slight chill, and Akaashi was glad he had opted for a sweater this morning. He only hoped that as the sun rose to its midday point, it would warm the air.

Across the table, Kenma looked almost identical to Akaashi in how he sat. The only difference being that Kenma was tucked against Kuroo’s side, with Kuroo’s arm draped lazily across the smaller boy’s shoulders as he lounged in the bench that they had claimed. Kenma was tapping away on his phone, his nose buried under the collar of the jacket he was wearing. Kuroo was chatting with Asahi, who sat to Akaashi’s right in a cushioned chair. Noya was busy stealing other chairs from the surrounding tables on the café’s patio, dragging them over and positioning them around their table. He dragged one over to sit next to Asahi, pushing them as close together as he could since he hadn’t been able to steal another bench.

The branches of the cherry blossom tree that hung over their table swayed in the breeze, scattering more petals around them like a soft, pink shower. A few landed in Kuroo’s wild hair, and Kenma reached up to brush them away before he returned to his phone.

“When do you leave for Paris?” Kuroo asked, turning to brush a few petals from Kenma’s own head.

“Monday morning,” Asahi replied, glancing down as Noya lifted Asahi’s arm and tucked it around his shoulders.

Noya tipped his head against Asahi’s shoulder and groaned dramatically. “What am I going to do for a whole week while you’re gone?” he asked, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping Asahi’s hand.

Asahi smiled at the other softly. “There’s still time to decide to come along, if you would like.”

Noya opened his eyes and scoffed. “I would be so bored all by myself while you all were busy. I wouldn’t know where to go, and I can barely get by with my English, let alone French. I only know like, two words in French.”

Just a few months prior, Asahi had been informed that his fashion line was being featured in an “Up-and-Coming Designers” event in Paris. Oikawa had nearly fainted when Asahi told them the news, and that had nearly caused Akaashi to have a heart attack. Consequently, the three of them were traveling to Paris for a week to participate in the event. It was a huge deal for Asahi’s brand, and Akaashi was excited and proud to be a part of it.

“Ah, Noya, we could always just drop you off at the Eiffel Tower each day and then come pick you up when we were done,” Oikawa said, approaching the table carrying a cupholder filled with various caffeinated beverages.

“He would end up trying to climb it and get arrested,” Bokuto quipped as he stepped around Oikawa, carrying his own cupholder filled with drinks.

He skirted the edge of the bench Akaashi was sitting in and plopped next to him, prying one of the paper cups from its space and placing it in front of Akaashi.

“One large chai latte with extra cinnamon,” Bokuto said, leaning in to nuzzle Akaashi’s neck and plant small kisses on his skin.

Akaashi giggled and scrunched his shoulders, shying away from the way Bokuto’s nose and lips tickled him. Kuroo stuck his tongue out and gagged, taking his and Kenma’s drinks from Oikawa. Kenma snatched his drink, immediately licking some of the whipped cream off the top.

“You two are so gross, get a room,” Kuroo said, bringing his straw to his mouth to take a sip of his drink.

“Let them cuddle,” Oikawa said, waving his hand about in a dismissive gesture. “This is the most I’ve ever seen Aka-kun relax in a public setting. It’s good for him.” He plopped into a chair on the other side of the bench that held Bokuto and Akaashi, his hair bouncing softly.

Akaashi was blushing furiously, and he raised his cup to his face to try and hide behind it. Bokuto laughed and threw an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, tugging him closer to his side. Akaashi went willingly.

“Bokuto, are you coming with us to Paris?” Asahi asked.

A few months had passed since Akaashi had freaked out and smashed paintings on his apartment floor. Since then, he had cut all contact with his mother, though he still spoke to his father. After the incident, Akaashi’s father had taken it upon himself to reach out to his son. They had met for lunch (Bokuto attending of course), and to Akaashi’s surprise, his father had asked for his forgiveness. He acknowledged that he hadn’t been supportive enough, and he had asked if he and Akaashi could start again. Akaashi had agreed, and his father had actually attended a few of Akaashi’s appointments so he could get a better understanding of what his son was experiencing. Furthermore, Akaashi’s father had convinced his mother to, at the very least, acknowledge her wrongdoings. Akaashi was impressed, but he still insisted he not keep in contact with her for the time being; he did hope she would come around like his father had, though.

Bokuto and Akaashi’s relationship had only grown stronger after their argument, which Bokuto affectionately referred to as their “Getting Together Fight.” Bokuto basically lived at Akaashi’s apartment; he even had his own key. He kept his apartment just in case he was too tired to drive after his shifts at the club, but he hadn’t stayed there in weeks and was discussing ending his lease with Suga.

So, Asahi’s question was a legitimate one.

Bokuto shook his head, however. “Nah, I decided to stay here. It would be fun, but someone needs to take care of Miko, and I still have work at the gym. Besides, like Noya said, I can barely speak English, let alone French.”

“So, the Eiffel Tower comment was also an idea,” Oikawa said cheekily, sipping his drink. Bokuto only grinned at him.

Akaashi eyed Bokuto suspiciously. “Noya would be perfectly fine on his own in Paris. You on the other hand…” He smirked and took a sip of his latte as Bokuto gawked at him. Noya laughed.

“Rude!” Bokuto yelped, poking his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout. Akaashi leaned forward and gave him a small peck, which melted Bokuto’s pout and replaced it with a dreamy smile.

“You could always leave Miko with us,” Kenma said, licking up more whipped cream. He swatted Kuroo’s hand away when the other tried to scoop up some of the whipped cream for himself.

“Um, no!” Bokuto replied, snapping out of his smitten grin and directing an icy glare at Kenma. “If you cat-sat Miko, you would never give her back. I know you, Kenma. There’s no way we can knowingly risk our cat being catnapped.”

Kenma grinned at Bokuto and gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Oh, so it’s _our_ cat, not just Akaashi’s cat now, huh?” Kuroo cooed, smirking. “Look out everyone, things are getting serious.”

Akaashi glared daggers at Kuroo.

“What about you, Oikawa?” Noya asked, causing everyone to turn and look at the model, who had his long legs splayed out under the table and was using his mouth to spin the straw around the cup.

Oikawa blinked and looked up at the curious audience watching him, and his mouth fell open to let the straw fall out. “What?” he asked.

“Are you bringing anyone with you to Paris?” Asahi asked. He quirked his eyebrow up, a rare display of confidence and playfulness.

Akaashi grinned and leaned forward a bit. “Yeah, Oikawa, are you?”

Kuroo and Bokuto glanced between the three coworkers frantically, taking in Asahi and Akaashi’s deviously knowing and Oikawa’s panicky looks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oikawa said after a moment, straightening in his chair with a false air of dignity. He set his cup on the table and readjusted his clothing, a huff forming on his lips.

“Are we missing something?” Bokuto asked, turning his attention to Akaashi for an explanation.

Akaashi only smirked, his gaze never leaving Oikawa, who was clearly fighting a blush.

“Oh ho ho,” Kuroo said, leaning toward Oikawa and resting his chin in his hand. He gave his signature grin, and Oikawa shrank back to create more distance between them. “Have you found someone to end your perpetual seventh wheeling, Oikawa?”

Oikawa’s face erupted into a deep crimson color, and Asahi and Akaashi burst into laughter. Noya and Kuroo smirked at him, Kenma rolled his eyes, and Bokuto slapped him on the shoulder.

“Why didn’t you bring them today?” Noya asked, his eyes sparkling.

Oikawa looked down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs, and blushing aggressively. “Um, well, he uh…he had to work,” he stammered. Then he pouted at a random spot on the patio. “And he can’t get away from work to come to Paris, so he won’t be there.”

Asahi gave Oikawa a playful but sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, Oikawa, I’ll facetime Iwaizumi-san while you’re on the runway so he can watch you model.”

Oikawa immediately lost his pout and gave Asahi a blinding smile. “Asahi! You’re the best!”

Their group remained for a while longer before they parted ways. Akaashi and Bokuto decided to walk around the city, stopping to admire random window displays and browse the street displays that shops had out for spring. Bokuto insisted on buying colorful chocolates shaped like flowers and spring animals, nibbling on them as they walked down the street. He also stopped around six times to pet random dogs that they passed on the street, easily striking up conversation with the dogs’ owners, always causing Akaashi to smile warmly as he watched. Akaashi even patted a few dogs himself, though he was admittedly not much of a dog person.

Akaashi checked the time on his phone as the sun started to sink, bringing the chilled breeze back.

“Bokuto, we should head home,” he said. “You’ll need to go to work soon.”

Bokuto slipped his hand into Akaashi’s and swung them lazily as they walked. “I took tonight off,” he replied.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re leaving for Paris and I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible.”

Akaashi smiled and squeezed Bokuto’s hand gently. “We still have tomorrow, Bokuto. I’m not leaving until Monday morning.”

Bokuto shrugged. “I know, but if I worked tonight I wouldn’t get home until probably four in the morning and you would be sleeping and then I would sleep in late and then tomorrow would go by really fast and end too soon and—”

He stopped to take a deep breath and continue in his rambling, but Akaashi pressed a kiss into Bokuto’s cheek and laughed, effectively rendering Bokuto speechless.

“Okay, okay,” Akaashi said. “I’m glad you took off.”

Bokuto beamed.

That night, Akaashi was lounging on the couch with Miko on his lap, half listening to the documentary playing on the TV. He felt his eyelids drooping, lazily cursed his medication for making him so sleepy, and the next thing he knew he was being lifted into Bokuto’s arms and cradled against his chest. He stirred and looked up at Bokuto, blinking at him, then let his head drop onto Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bokuto mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi replied. Bokuto’s skin was soft and still slightly damp from his shower, and he smelled like the cinnamon body wash that Akaashi loved so much.

Bokuto set Akaashi gently on the bed and pulled the covers up around him, then disappeared to go shut off lights around the apartment. Akaashi nestled himself deeper under the covers, burying his face in his pillow and breathing deeply. His entire bed smelled like that freshness and hinted cinnamon that he had first encountered in Bokuto’s bed; now Akaashi fell asleep to that scent every night, and he also got to tuck himself against Bokuto’s warmth.

The bed dipped as Bokuto slid in next to Akaashi, turning off the lamp next to the bed and settling under the covers. Akaashi closed the distance between them, pressing himself into Bokuto’s chest, and Bokuto wrapped his arms around him. They stayed that way for a while, quietly enjoying each other’s presence in the darkness.

Akaashi felt Bokuto shift, rolling onto his back and pulling Akaashi along with him. Akaashi readjusted himself so he was sprawled across Bokuto, wrapping one leg around his and tucking his arms under Bokuto’s torso.

“I thought you were asleep,” Bokuto whispered.

“I am very sleepy,” Akaashi replied, barely moving his lips.

“Then go to sleep.”

“But I wanna spend time with you.”

“We still have tomorrow.”

“Stop using my words against me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Akaashi laughed and closed his eyes against Bokuto’s chest, listening intently to the steady heartbeat pounding right below where he lay. Listening to Bokuto’s heartbeat was one of Akaashi’s favorite pastimes; it had many different rhythms, but it was always there, beating reliably and strongly, just like Bokuto. There were times when it was quiet and low, like when Bokuto was in a deep sleep after a long night at the club; there were times when it was just steady and constant, like it was right then. And there were times when it was hard and rapid, like when Bokuto was excited, or after he had finished a run, or when Akaashi listened to it in tandem with loving whispers and hitched breaths in the dark.

Bokuto’s heartbeat was Akaashi’s favorite sound.

“I’ll miss you,” Akaashi whispered, tightening his hold on Bokuto’s middle.

Bokuto’s fingers were brushing through Akaashi’s hair, twirling his curls around his fingertips gently. He hummed in response to Akaashi’s words, and Akaashi felt it vibrate throughout Bokuto’s chest.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied. “But you’ll be busy, so the week will go by fast.”

“You’ll have to keep yourself distracted while I’m gone.”

“I’ll just go bother Kuroo after work.”

“He and Kenma could always come here.”

“Kenma will try to smuggle Miko out under his shirt.”

Akaashi laughed again. He slid one arm out from underneath Bokuto and reached for the hand that wasn’t playing with his hair. Bokuto met him halfway, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. Akaashi watched their hands in the dim light.

“I’ll call you every day,” he said.

“Good,” Bokuto replied. He was quiet for a moment, then: “Don’t worry, we still have tomorrow. And you’ll be on the flight home before you know it, and then we’ll have all the days after that. And after your next trip, we’ll have all the days after that. Always.”

Akaashi hummed and closed his eyes again, sighing happily.

“Always,” he repeated.

He drifted to sleep, lulled by the sound of Bokuto’s heartbeat and the comforting thought that they still had tomorrow. And the days after that. And the days after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and inspiration credit: ["Little Love" by JADN.](https://open.spotify.com/track/1U2j36G8WZKTGBMXyZRn9r?si=v1rduS1mQzC2P2b5341qTA)
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@iliura](https://iliura.tumblr.com/)


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